


Guiding Lights

by Kaelas, yamikuronue



Series: Tales of Aldis [2]
Category: Dragon Age II, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Agender Character, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst and Feels, Carver Hawke Being an Asshole, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Harem, LGBTQ Themes, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Not That Kind Of Family, Polyamory, Polygamy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stabbed In the Gut with a Sword, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-02-04 04:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 221,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaelas/pseuds/Kaelas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamikuronue/pseuds/yamikuronue
Summary: The Champion of Coalside died to save all of Nyra -- and her chosen family, her Clan, brought her back. Her weakness almost broke them apart once. There's no way Marian's going to let that happen again. She'll keep forging onward, making bonds and holding her Clan together, even if it rips her apart.Also, Varric snarks at everyone.





	1. "I'm sorry, you want me to be a what?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to my previous work, The Magus. I suppose you don't _have_ to have read it, but thing will make more sense if you have. This is a AU, and the one major character change we made was to merge Zevran and Fenris into one, much less broody character. The setting is a homebrew Pathfinder world.

"I'm sorry, you want me to be a what?"

Hawke sits on a backwards-turned chair, deliberately trying to unsettle the man before her: John zi'Smith, also known as The Doctor, one of the many Guiding Lights in Nyra. She didn't really have time for whatever Noble problems he wanted her to solve; he could easily have gone to Avaline and he knew it, so he was likely trying to get a piece of the legend of Hawke. But she was busy trying to figure out what Zevran was planning for her 23rd birthday. This shit? Probably not nearly so important.

After all, she was only going to get one 23rd birthday. And she was lucky to get one at all, after what happened three years prior.

She wasn't expecting this proposal, however. She'd been expecting him to offer her a job, sure -- preferably a one-off, since she didn't want to be any noble's pet investigator -- but this job? This was a little beyond her. "I'm not exactly Guiding Light material." Guiding Lights, the governing body of the city-state of Nyra, were... you know. Older. Stodgier. Like zi'Smith, or his lover zi'Magnus, despite not being a Light himself: both were older gentlemen, both eccentric, both steeped in magic. Hawke was a hero, not a politician. _What would they even nickname me? The Hero seems a bit pretentious, but it's always The Something._

The Doctor scoffs a little. "Magical, heroic, popular... all you're missing is overly monied, landed or having been born to the right lineage to qualify for every possible type of seat. And in fairness, you're not that far off from the monied part, if you judge it by your entire Clan." He's messing around with some type of device, a cube with colored panels, as he talks. He's not looking at it, just twisting the thing around seemingly at random. "And you're rather more suitable than most of the ones that 'earned' the post from any of those routes. Lord zi'Yevhen might be sponsoring you out of gratitude but his selection is very well done."

"Lord zi'Yevhen is a fool. And I have better things to do than go to a bunch of fancy parties and pretend to be nice to people. No thanks." She eyes him suspiciously. This whole 'coalside ruffian' act should be putting him off -- usually around now people would be saying 'how dare you' and 'you disrespectful whelp' and all that.

"Like push for laws that benefit entire districts? Or get more funding for the guard in areas that actually need it?" He frowns slightly, shaking his puzzle toy. "Blasted thing. Oh, or maybe that charity you're trying to help, the one to help fund a series of clinics in Coalside with the Bastionite church? What was it... A Sip of Mercy?"

"I can't earn money if I'm sitting around playing house with nobles," she points out. "It'll take, what, ten years for me to convince people that Coalside's worth spending money on?"

"Wynne speaks very highly of you. And, well, your reputation is... the majority of the city might not understand the full extent of what you did three years ago, what you... paid... but most of the Lights are better informed," he says, voice soft, somber. "So I feel I can trust you when I say that there is a not insignificant portion of the Lights that are very concerned with conditions in the city, Coalside, Crafting and the Undercity in particular. The push for patrols in the Warrens, the fire wards in Coalside... those are good first steps but... we want more. And we could really use a... champion, one that lived there, that really knows that part of the city to be a major voice in this."

"And you think I'm the one? Me, Marian Hawke, the Champion of Coalside?" Her tone is mocking, but only a little, mostly at herself. "I'm willing to give it a go, but I'm telling you, I'll never last."

He snorts. "Marian Hawke... maybe not," he admits with a slow nod. "But the Twice-Living Hawke of the Winter Sky? The Thrice-Chosen Hero? Or even just Marian Tethras Hawke? I think she'll do just fine."

She cringes, shaking her head. "Don't let Varric hear you talking like that. Especially the last." _I really should tell him I changed my name... maybe for Winter Solstice? It can be his present?_

"...his signature is on the paperwork," the Doctor asks with wide eyes. "Wouldn't he already know?" The corner of his lip quirks up a little.

"Is it?" She asks, sounding innocent. "I wonder how that happened."

"Of course, of course," he says with a grin. "Probably just another miracle." He lets out a whoop, then tosses the cube on his desk. Each side is now the same color, which is... probably the solution? Strange puzzle box. "So I'll see you in the Lantern then?"

She sighs. "I'll think it over and send a response soon. This week, probably."

"I really hope you do. If nothing else, you're _much_ more fun to talk with than most of our esteemed peers and colleagues," he says with a grin, raising his impressive eyebrows. "You didn't even give me dirty looks about playing with my puzzle!"

"Why would I?" she asks, with a coy smirk. "I'm well known for playing with puzzles. Sometimes even in public."

"Ah, yes, so I've heard," he replies, still grinning. "Ian and myself are more about the logic kind of puzzles ourselves, but as you like." He pauses a moment, then his grin widens. "We're having a ball at the start of next month, come to think of it; we'd be honored if that was your 'coming out' event."

Hawke sighs, starting to get up. "Yeah, that should be fine. If I do this at all." _Damn. He's really going to rope me into this stupid thing, isn't he?_

"You have fun with your logic stuff," she says, by way of farewell as she slips out the door.

She expects to see Rosemary; the long-furred white catfolk leans gracefully against a fence, looking for all the world like she belongs here in this upper-class neighborhood despite her race. The pearls at her neck help; the slinky black dress that hugs her curves helps too; mostly, however, it's her facial expression, slightly disdainful of the whole situation, as though she looks upon this street and decides she's seen better.

She didn't expect to see Gwendolyn Lemur, but she probably should have. The woman was her minder, the guard assigned to keep an eye on the Champion and ensure she didn't run into any trouble. She'd been trying to ditch the woman since she was first assigned a week ago, just after the letter came inviting her to join the Guiding Lights, and she had thought she'd succeeded this morning.

Lemur- sorry, _Lady_ Lemur gives Hawke a long look as she exits the building. "You... forgot to inform me, again, that you were planning on meeting with Lord Light zi'Smith," she says coolly. "An oversight, I'm sure, but one that merely highlights the need for someone like myself as your... assistant. Thing would progress much more smoothly were you to make an attempt at understanding and accepting proper protocol, Lady Champion."

"Assistant. Is that what they're calling it?" Despite the joke, Hawke's tone is flat, dark. She walks right past Lemur, stroking Rosemary's chin gently before bringing her in for a kiss. Rosemary obliges, wrapping her long, fluffy tail around Hawke's waist as she purrs into the kiss.

Lady Lemur's cheeks darken a little, though from the rest of her posture, it's clear it's not arousal. "Lady Champion!" she hisses. "Such behavior in public is not only rude, but _damaging_ to your status. Desist!" As if in answer, she actually leans forward and _dips_ Rosemary, cradling the catfolk gently to ensure she doesn't fall. "Lady Ch-" With a huff, Lemur turns around and fastidiously glares at a nearby building. "When you are _quite_ done?" she snaps out.

"Never," purrs Hawke a moment later -- but if she's talking, she must have stopped kissing.

"You seem to have finally realized the value of my company, to have missed me so much in so little time," purrs Rosemary, in quite a literal sense, as she's still purring from the kiss.

Turning back around, Lemur sniffs disdainfully. _For all her airs, it's very clear Rosemary is nothing more than the alley cat she was born as._ "Now that _that_ is over with," she says firmly. "You have other, more important, matter to attend to, Lady Champion. We have a great many invitations to go over and discuss, your wardrobe is... highly insufficient for your new position, one of the leading ladies of The Tea Petal Society wishes to speak to you about membership and that really can't be put off any longer, there's still paperwork to go over in regards to the... incident two days ago, and we really should speak about your recent quotes in the Daily Arcanaica."

Hawke looks down at her outfit. She's gotten in the habit of wearing her shiny new breastplate when she goes out, just in case; it's a bit of a rough look, but she's been stabbed in the gut at least one time too many to not appreciate metal on her torso. When she first got it, she wore a leather tunic and leggings, but she's finally caved and started wearing leather pants these days. Merrill had made her a series of shorter tunics, in a masculine style that offered no frills but fit her form perfectly. Her hair she'd kept short, with little adornment, and she was rocking these new boots today -- a pretty good look, overall.

"What's wrong with my wardrobe?" she asks, skeptically. _She probably wants dresses, but I own a few of those. They're crammed in the back, I think. The Tea Petals can piss off over a cliff, that's for sure._ "The paperwork's on my desk," _along with the other five hundred scrolls I've been meaning to reply to, and an inch of dust,_ "and I thought the interview went fine?"

"You're wearing _armour_! And those... _pants_ ," she says with outrage. "And the paperwork is **not** on your desk! I spent ten hours yesterday cleaning and organizing your desk. All of your guard reports were soaked through with-- with ale. And your interview was fine? Fine?! You said you thought the guard would be more effective if they got a discount at brothels!"

"It was an obvious joke," she says, laughing a little. "Rosemary got it, right?"

"Of course," purrs the white cat.

Lemur flicks a disdainful look at Rosemary but ignores her other than that one gesture. "You are now an important figure, a role model to young Nyran ladies. You can't afford to make jokes in public. Especially not ones like that!"

"No jokes? We're going to have a problem," the half-elf teases. "But hey, if you want to go down in history as the one to kill the Champion of Coalside..."

"What?" She asks, back stiffening. "I would never!" If only because, no matter how satisfying the image of choking Hawke to death is after only six days of hell, Captain Vallen terrifies the shit out of her even more.

"All the repressed snark, it'd just build up and then... poof!" She lets go of Rosemary's waist in order to simulate an explosion with her hands, causing Rosemary to snake her arm around Hawke's waist instead.

"Oh," Lemur says, flustered at having taken Hawke's comment in any way seriously. "How droll. Now. About that Tea Petal Society invite- Miss Laudnim is very much one of the current darlings of the Aurora social life, so she won't be willing to wait much longer and you must not miss this chance. If we hurry, I was able to arrange for a dressmaker to see us in an hour. It will only be a re-fitted dress of course, given the time constraints, but, well, that's what happens when one shirks their duties for so long," she says pointedly. "Something to remember in the future, perhaps?"

"No thanks, I'm not joining," she says, casually. She presses a kiss to Rosemary's cheek, then starts down the street, the cat following after -- she knows better than to try and twine around Hawke while they walk, though she's inevitably going to drape herself back on top of her once she stops moving. Rosemary, it seems to Lemur, is a cuddly but quiet feline.

"Y-you- you're what?" the guardswoman sputters, falling behind and having to hurry after as she was struck dumb by the off-hand refusal. "The Tea Petal Society is a much-beloved and highly successful group that has helped nurture the qualities of hundreds of some of the most successful and respected females in Nyran history. They date back before the fall of the Sovereignty for Ayldra's sake! You can't just refuse!"

Hawke shrugs. "Do I look like a tea petal to you?"

"Not _yet_ but if you'd just let me help," Lemur snaps at Hawke, then flushes at her tone. She takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to regain her composure.

Hawke stops, turning around to face Lemur. "Yeah, no. This isn't working out. I'll have your things sent to the guard station for you to claim later."

She recoils as if slapped. "What? No! You can't just.. fire me! You _need_ a deft hand to guide you! Just-just look at you! Walking around with a harlot draped all over you, ignoring your betters! Wearing armour and leather and made by some no-name elf at that! You won't even-"

"I know what I am," says Hawke, her tone low and dangerous. "Better than you, I dare say." That's weird -- it was summer a second ago, but there's a sudden chill now.

Lemur falters, just for a second or two, as her instincts (and sense of self-preservation) war with her indignation and arrogance. "But you could be _more_! Better! If you just let me tell you how to act..."

Hawke takes a step forward, her eyes like ice. "Better? Are you criticizing the Champion of Coalside?"

Behind her, Rosemary snickers, covering her mouth with one paw.

"I- n-n-no, ma'am," the guard blurts out, stepping back quickly.

"Good," Hawke snaps, biting off the word as she's seen Aveline do before. "You are dismissed."

Without a word-- which is a break of regs, bad Lemur-- the prissy little bitch of a 'guard' scurries off as if being chased by an ice dragon.

"How droll," purrs Rosemary, drawing the word out.

The Champion loses it then -- she doubles over with laughter, keeping it quiet as much as she can to avoid Lemur overhearing. "You're so bad!"

"Not as bad as you." Rosemary curled around Marian's side, nibbling on her earlobe.

~*~

Hawke leaves Rosemary in the sitting room of the little house in Lily and Oak, peeling the cat off her arm only with great trouble. She heads for the study, where she expects Varric to be waiting for her; this is, after all, his home. The dwarf had taken her in when she was just a refugee, lost and friendless in the big city; when her mother and brother had rejected her, she'd found a father in him. That had been the foundation of her whole life, really: everything after that point was only made possible because he looked out for her and guided her to safe tunnels.

"Another day, another pile of bullshit," she sighs, as she collapses into her favorite chair. The armchair is a good sign; when she's had a really hard day, she climbs into the overstuffed loveseat, so Varric can join her, preferably with whiskey. Of course, her papa was seated behind the oak desk, and of course, the sideboard was well stocked with fine liquors for when the work was done.

"Welcome to adulthood, at least we have whiskey," he replies as he tries to stare a ledger into balancing. He hasn't changed overly much since.. in the last three years or so. A bit more expressive about his feelings. A touch more willing to open up or acknowledge his ties to other. Sometimes he even calls Hawke 'daughter' in common, the human tongue that was the official language of Nyra. If they're in private... By themselves. But he's still snarky and witty, a charming storyteller and a clever rogue. Still dotes on Bianca, and quietly smoothes the way for his Clan with as little fanfare or credit as he can pull off.

"What scent does today's have?" he asks, leaning back to rub his nose wearily. He does not need glasses, he's not even two hundred yet.

"You're gonna love this one. Remember that poncy kid we rescued from the Underdark?"

Varric squints a moment. "Uh, Merin? No, that was the dad, uh, Irwin, right? Runty-brained little pillock who thought some decently enchanted armour and a adamantine battleaxe would be enough to make him a hero? Smart enough to hire some 'companions' but otherwise clearly ate more than his share of varnish as a kid?" He shrugs. "Nah, can't say as he made an impression. Why?"

Hawke laughs. "That's the one," she jokes. "Apparently, that's the biggest service I've done for Nyra in my entire career."

Varric's finger twitches, a slight involuntary jerk inward toward the palm, the tip of his finger curling just a little. The quill nub jerks as well, leaving a small mark on his papers. "Of course-- he's clearly a major asset to the city," he says, voice still jovial. "A paragon of virtue and a beacon illuminating our way forward for all time."

"Exactly. So in honor of my brave and heroic service, they want to make me a Guiding Light." She watches his face, smirking.

"'bout damn time," he says simply, setting his quill down to find a pumice stone. _Stupid ink blot..._

"Wait, what?" Hawke blinks, the smirk dying.

Varric glances over at her, his expression showing but nonchalant and mild interest -- but his eyes are gleaming just a hint. Anyone but her? Probably wouldn't spot a thing. "Hmm? Oh, I said, 'about damn time.' You'll bring honor to the Clan, do the city proud, all that noise," he says, voice still bland. Carefully bland... "Ah, here's my pumice stone," he says brightly. "Where's your shadow by the way? Monkey or whatever, the prissy one." Is he... trying to distract her?

"Fuck you." Marian grabbed for the nearest thing at hand -- a crumpled bit of parchment -- and hurls it at her father's head, failing to conceal her smile.

The dwarf doesn't even bother to dodge, just smirks at her. "Look, did you really think zi'Yevhan, a rather... traditional dwarf from a noble dwarf clan wouldn't approach your, and I quote, 'eldest male authority figure' for a character reference? The guy was grateful-- not sure why, given the son in question-- but he's not a complete simpleton. He wouldn't have made the offer if he didn't think you were worth it."

He looks at her then, locks eyes with her. "You deserve this Hawke. Maybe... maybe you wouldn't have a few years ago. Maybe even not as recent as last year. But you've... found the rhythm of your swing." He wrinkles his nose. "That sounds better in a proper tongue. You've find your... way. You fit in your skin now, all of you."

Hawke shakes her head. _He could have just changed to Dwarven,_ she thinks, doing so herself. "Papa... " She shakes her head, ruefully. "I know I can't convince you I'd be bad at it, and I'm not sure I want to. But you can't imagine I'd be happy prancing around with nobles?"

"Honestly? I'm mostly picturing their expressions when you come into the first Lantern meeting in full armour, put your feet up on the table and ask the oldest, stuffiest noble you can see 'how it's hanging?' in your most chipper and innocent voice," he replies earnestly.

"Flirty, Shadow, and I are planning on sneaking in somehow as we can watch," he adds. He'd stopped calling Zevran 'Flirts' shortly after Seline had named Marian godmother of her twins, and had eventually settled on Shadow after a few months. 'Father's Bane', 'Wear Pants' and 'How You Doing' had all been discarded as too much of a mouthful and Tats, Shanky, and Silver hadn't worked for various reasons, so... Shadow. Not because of the man's dark skin, marked with glowing magical tattoos; because he was as silent as one when he wanted to be, and just as terrifying when he decided to rise up and kill you. Isabela hadn't earned a new nickname yet, though, so Flirty still did for her.

She groans. "I'm going to get fired. Can you even be fired from the Guiding Lights?"

"From a Sage slot? Treason is basically it. Or a capital crime, a serious one. Speakers need to be renewed every... ten years, I think? But it takes twenty-four out of thirty-one votes to kick someone out for anything less so... you're good, I'd wager," he assures her.

"Speaking of fired," she replies, still speaking Dwarven. Sure, Varric speaks twenty-three languages, but why not practice her own Dwarven? It's as good a language as any of the handful she can speak. "I've finally kicked that guard to the curb."

"What?" he head comes up intently. "When?"

 _There's only one reason he wants to know,_ she thinks with an indulgent smile. "An hour ago." She shrugs. "It wasn't working out. Interfering busybody."

"Yes!" Varric crows, thrusting a fist in the air. "Suck it Flirty! Drinks are on you this week!"

Hawke laughs. "Glad to know I've finally made you proud, papa," she teases.

"Brat," he says fondly, already debating on whether he wants to go to the Gilder for old times sake or that new place on Regins Ave. "So you gonna go for it?"

She sighs. "I guess I have to, if you're saying I should."

"I said you'd be great at it. That you'd do good with it. That you deserve it. If you should... well, that's up to you. Will you be able to be happy with it?" he asks, voice gentle.

A wince. "I don't know. But that's not the point, is it? I'll help the city a ton by taking it. I'll be able to build more clinics than before. So I should take it."

"I'm your father, so, actually, yeah, it really is the point," he counters firmly. "The city's made do as is for centuries. If you go for it, it'll do better, sure, but it'll work out if you don't."

Hawke makes a face. "I've been over this before. I'm a hero now. Remember? The whole life of service thing?"

"Daughter first," he replies simply.

"The Gods first." she retorts.

"They can get in line. Clan first," he retorts as always. "You don't owe them a thing. Seriously, Hawke: is this something that you can be happy with? It's not just you involved, even if you're the front if it."

She rubs at her head. "I don't know. I suppose not. I--"

_But you could be more! Better! If you just let me tell you how to act_

"...Fuck. Where's that whisky?"

"You know where," he says with an eye roll. At least Moonbeam doesn't steal his precious booze. All the rest of the... well, Aveline at least brings over a bottle from time to time. "Look, maybe... maybe you should me a few of them? Or at least, what about Lawful? She's probably met at least some of them, she could give you a hint where to place your pitons."

Marian gets up, moving to the sideboard to pour herself a glass. "That's fair. Oh, Rosemary's over, by the way." _Probably napping, by now._

Varric looks down at his ledge to hide his expression a touch. "Is that... 'sorry to hear that, I'll send word for Seli and Moonbeam' or 'good riddance, I'll send for Shadow and Flirty?" he asks carefully.

"What? No, I mean she's over at the house. In the living room." She shakes her head. "Why is everyone trying to get rid of Rosemary?"

"What? Rosemary's a... lovely girl, I just misunderstood," he says easily. "Who was trying to get rid of her?"

"Varric," she scolds.

"Scoundrel! Who is this Varric, I'll give him a stern talking to," he says with a sharp nod.

Hawke laughs. "Thanks, Papa. I needed that."

"Here to serve," he says with a smile. "Seriously though. Give it some thought. Talk it over with everyone else and... do what you think is right, for the Clan and Nyra." A pause. "In that order."

She rolls her eyes. "Sure thing."

~*~

Flowers or wine? Both. The answer is always both.

Having dropped Rosemary off at her home in Coalside, Marian heads up the walk for her date night with Aveline. _Please don't be mad I threatened your guardswoman... piss-poor excuse for a guardswoman though she was,_ she thinks, as she knocks on the front door. Even if she is, it wouldn't be the first clash they'd had in the past, and far from the worst. The aftermath of the Mori cult had... well. Aveline had not stepped away, but she had stepped back a little for almost a year. It had taken a lot of soul searching on her part and a lot of love and patience on Hawke's before the paladin was willing to resume their romance. And she'd still wanted to go slow. It wasn't until five months ago that they'd finally, as Zevran would put it, cleaned the rust off poor Aveline.

Still, things are... good now. Solid. They've worked out how to deal with the high risk lives they both live. And how to deal with Aveline's duty and Hawke's... very different duty. Aveline still lives in the home she'd bought to live with Wesley in and rarely stays at Varric's. But Hawke stays over with her from time to time and they meet often; the paladin simply doesn't have even a fraction of the sex drive as Hawke or any of her other lovers.

Aveline herself has been doing fairly well. It had taken a long, brutal political battle, but she's finally managed to get herself back to Coalside. Still a Captain at that, the one that was in place enjoying the idea of having a semi-retirement for the last five or six years of his career. "Come in Hawke!" Aveline calls out from the kitchen, the sounds of chopping accompanying her words.

Hawke fumbles with the door with the hand holding the bouquet, trying not to dwell on the last time she fucked up real big. If Aveline knew only two things in this life, it was her own name and that Hawke didn't mean to die in front of her. There was no sense dwelling on it now.

Still, she'd probably not have bought both gifts if she'd fired someone Varric set to mind her...

She pauses, setting down her winebottle for a moment to stop at the desk in the front entryway. _Speaking of Varric..._ Picking up the pen there, she dips it and scrawls a note on the calendar space for three days prior: a year, two years in the future, and the word 'Haverstone'. _It'll be safe to tell her about that once the statue of limitations runs out,_ she thinks, trying not to dwell on how many such entries were encoded in Aveline's annual planner.

"Got a vase?" she asks, as she steps into the kitchen.

"There's an empty one waiting on the table," she calls back, the sound of chopping being replaced with the hiss of hot oil being exposed to water.

 _Oh yeah. She heard about Lemur._ "I also brought wine," she offers, cheerily, as she heads for the dining room. "Hey boo-boo, who's a good girl?" she asks, in a very different tone, as she squats to pat the dog.

"Really," Aveline says from the doorway to the kitchen, giving her an amused look.

Beka, Aveline's mabari, surges to her feet, then snaps her rump down, her spine straight and head level. She ruffs very softly, her eyes shifting to watch Hawke without moving her head. Aveline smiles proudly at her guard. Dog. At her dog.

Marian sets the bottle down and kneels, ruffling Beka's fur playfully. "Aww, whose the best little guard in Nyra, yes you are, yes you are."

"At ease, Beka," Aveline says, allowing the mabari to lunge at Hawke. Pinning her under her some two hundred pounds, the canine bathes the half-elf's face lovingly.

"Gah!" She laughs, letting the dog lick her. "The wine!" she calls out, giggling. "Don't let her knock it over."

"My Beka would never get a bystander harmed," Aveline says, mock affronted as she picks the bottle up. "Top shelf, you are feeling guilty..." she muses as Beka flops down to lay half-atop Hawke.

"I really am," she says, rubbing Beka's ears. "Not about Lemur, though. She deserved it. But I'm sorry I let you down."

"She likely did. She's a first rate poster child for the woes of allowing social climbers and gold diggers into uniform," Aveline agrees as she sets the bottle down on the table and kneels next to them both. She gives Beka a rub, then traces a finger down Hawke's nose. "You'll have to wash your face if you're expecting kisses from me."

"Sure," she chirps, happily. "Is there a but coming?"

"But if you're not guilty about that, then why do I have a ten gold bottle of wine on my table," Aveline supplies. Beka whines softly, giving Hawke a disappointed look. Seriously, Beka is such a momma's girl. Err, Aveline-momma, not Hawke.

Hawke gives the dog a push. "Alright girl, time for me to grovel."

Beka groans to her feet, then heads into the kitchen to check on the food. Aveline stands herself, reaching down to help Hawke up. "Is this something that should wait after dinner, when we've had some of that wine?" she asks neutrally.

"No, probably not." She heads for the kitchen, looking for a dishcloth to wipe her face down with. "So remember how you hate politics?" she asks, sunnily, as she does so.

"I will smite you," Aveline says instantly. "...I am... unfond of having to deal with such," she corrects herself primly. As they move to the kitchen, they spy Beka staring at the pot of.. looks like rice. And sautéed meat and veggies next to it, waiting to be mixed in. "Ready yet, cadet?" Aveline asks, getting a sad huff in reply.

 _That dog is scary smart,_ thinks Hawke as she scrubs dogspit off her face -- not for the first time. "Right, that. Well, the good news is, I'm not encouraging you to take up a career in politics."

"Sorry, Beka, looks like Hawke gets to eat her share after all," she inform the mabari, who moans piteously at the news. "Guards don't beg, Beka," she says sternly, causing the canine to duck her head and move out of the way.

"The bad news is, I might be encouraging you to date a politician." Hawke continues, drying her face.

Aveline frowns slightly, turning to give her a look. "Hawke..." Aveline was proficient in fewer languages than Varric, but one of them was 'using your name in meaningful ways'. This one meant something like, _I'm not sure what you mean but that but my first couple of guesses have some bad thoughts in them so spill._

Hawke puts the towel down. "There's a seat in the Guiding Lights for the Champion of Coalside if I just say the word."

Slow blinks. Long, slow blinks. "What?"

Said Champion shrugs, turning to rummage in a drawer for a corkscrew. "As I said."

"You... as.. a Guiding Light?" she asks, wanting to be clear. Most of her is shocked, but approving. Some of her is worried about what this might mean, for Hawke and for them. Another part is thinking how Hawke as a Light would affect the politics of the city. And a small, shameful part of her is jealous, that Hawke, a newcomer here less than six years, almost ten years her junior and a civilian with no background in politics is going to hold one of the thirty-one most important offices in Nyra. That she's the one being... being shown that appreciation for her service. when... when.. she's just the youngest Captain ever, with one of the best active records. When she's gotten her own decorations, her own accolades and titles and... Scowling, she crushes down that sickening worm and smiles.

"You deserve it," she says honestly. "I'm proud of you."

"If I want it," she cautions, finding the corkscrew. "I'm not sure I'll take it. It's... not really my cup of tea." Still, there's a faint blush to her cheeks. Avaline the hardass, thinking she deserves to be one of the ruling elite? That's really meaningful.

Aveline nods slowly. "You'll have a hard road ahead of you. Your age, you're being an emigrant instead of a native, your life style... it'll be hard," she says slowly. "But it's a road I think you can travel. You'll stumble, but you'll get back up."

 _Also, the whole, noble ladies dresses thing. Don't forget about that._ Marian smiles, faintly. "Well, on the bright side, I've got one less person nagging me now."

"I'm sure Head Captain Yamamoto will have ordered a new minder assigned to you sometime tomorrow," she replies with amusement. "Be interesting to see what his assistant goes for next. So far we've had new cadet, toady, seasoned retiree, third son and now wannabe socialite. I think the best odds are currently on spit-and shine officer candidate."

"This one was the worst," she points out. "And I let her stay a whole fortnight."

"Really? I would have thought Officer Kiss-ass would have been worse," she says, somewhat surprised as she gives the rice a quick stir. Seeing it'll need a few more minutes, she moves over to Hawke. "My turn," she says before leaning in to kiss the half-elf.

Marian accepts the kiss gratefully, sinking into it as she lets some of the tension flow out of her. "Hi," she says, when they've finished, a little giddy.

"You were really worried about this," Aveline says softly, not moving away but instead resting her forehead on Hawke's.

"I was," she says, quietly. "I hate to disappoint you."

Aveline frowns then, just a hint. "Why... why did you think I'd be disappointed?"

Marian pulls back, looks away. "I was petty." _She must not have heard about how I fired the girl._

"...I was talking about the Light thing. Are you still worried about Lemur?" Aveline asks, brow furrowed. "I gathered from the fact she was said to have begged for reassignment that she'd finally crossed a line and you smacked her down for it. Is... that not what happened?"

Hawke winces. "I may have... frightened her a bit."

"Did you attack her? Cast anything towards her?" Aveline asks slowly, never taking her eyes away from Hawke's, nor removing her arms from around her waist.

"Just threats." She at least looks ashamed of herself.

Aveline studies her a moment, then sighs. "What am I going to do with you?" she asks softly, her expression one of slightly resigned amusement.

"Love me forever?" she asks, hopeful. She does her best impression of puppy-dog eyes, opening them wide and giving a sweet little smile.

"Hawke..." Translation: _I love you with all that I am... brat._

"Fuck me silly and brag to your coworkers about how you bagged the newest Guiding Light?" she asks, clearly teasing.

"Very funny, Hawke, you know I don't..." She started out with wry humor but had faded out by the end. "Talk about that sort of thing at work. Or anyone. Ever," she finishes after a second or two's pause.

"It's almost like you're ashamed of me," she jokes, trying not to feel hurt. _Avaline's just private,_ she reminds herself for the hundredth time.

"I'm not... fuck," she says softly, realizing what she's about to ask is not exactly supportive of claim to not be ashamed. "I... I make no secret that we're friends, it's just.. Talking about that sort of thing is... very uncomfortable for me," she tries to explain. "It feels... like being exposed. Like naked in public or... something." How should she bring up.. should she wait? Or... _Honesty, openness and trust,_ as the clan motto reads. _It should be now._

Marian nods. "I do understand that. I'm just... very not like that. I'm proud to be with you."

"So am I," she says firmly. "Just... I didn't mind people knowing that we're that close, exactly, I just don't want anyone knowing any details of what we do in private." Shit. Didn't. Ummm. Well. "But... if you... you remember how I got my promotion to Captain, right?" she asks hurriedly, wanting to lay some groundwork before getting to... her request.

The half-elf nods, slowly. _She's leaving me. She's going to say she can't be with a Guiding Light. She tries to quell her fear, but she does pale slightly._ "I do," she says, her throat closing a little.

"I... I can't- I would _prefer_ ," she corrects herself, "to not... I want to earn my way up. To... continue to prove I deserve not just this rank but the next one. And the one after. So..." Her words are slow to come as she carefully works out her feelings. "I... this... will this be enough? As we are? Possibly for... years and maybe decades?"

She'd- they'd- never really talked about asking for a marriage exemption, though Seli has made a mention or two about how she's helped some people do so recently and she'd really figured out how to streamline the process. But... she's thought about it sometimes. Late at night, when Hawke is in her arms. Late at night, when her arms are so painfully empty.

"Aveline," says Hawke quietly, her eyes brimming with tears. "Am I... not enough for you? I never wanted to hurt your career. I don't want to invite questions. I know you're a capable guardswoman, and you'll do great things. I thought... I wanted... I wanted to be there with you, cheering you on."

Aveline's eyes widen and she pulls Hawke in for a hard, passionate kiss, trying to promise her, assure her as best she can that she is _absolutely_ enough for her, always. Hawke kisses her like she's drowning, and Aveline's mouth is the only air for miles. She wraps her arms around Aveline, her body shuddering with unshed tears.

"I love you, Hawke," the guard captain finally says after finally breaking off the kiss and taking a few breaths. "I will always love you, in this life and whatever comes next." She stares at Hawke, eyes burning and intense. "Tell me you understand, that you believe me."

"I do," she whispers, keeping her gaze lowered. "It's... it's been a hard day, Aveline. I do know that."

Aveline tries to lift her gaze. "I don't want to lose you. I will _fight_ to keep you. I swear. That's not... not what... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... give you doubts."

In response, Marian kisses her again, though this time it's gentler, lighter, shorter. "Thank you."

Looking relieved, the paladin kisses her back, then rests their heads together again. She loves standing like this: being so close, being able to look into Marian's eyes so deeply. "I... I know you've... Seli wasn't exactly subtle about her... nudges and... I've thought about it too," she admits softy, voice barely a whisper as she admits that until now private dream. "But... there's a very big difference between 'good friends and rumored lovers' and 'wife.' I... do you need more? More than what we have now? I can handle the... talk and... appearance that would cast over my career. I won't lie, it would make things... hard, but I can do it, if you ask me." She licks her lips, then says the words. "You're more important than my career with the guard."

"Is that...?" wonders Marian, relief evident. "I don't care about things like that. I have you. I don't care what you call it."

"You're sure?" Aveline says quietly, eyes never leaving Hawke's so she won't miss even the smallest flicker of doubt or pain.

Marian laughs, shaking her head. "After Anders? I'm pretty sure I'm never going to get married. How could I?"

Aveline shifts a little, her gaze flicking off to the side. "No reason," she says lightly.

"Oh," says Hawke, her tone softer. "I'm sorry, Aveline, I just -- I'm not against the idea, but you seemed worried I might demand that of you."

"I... so if... someone asked, you'd think about it?" she asks carefully. "Even she was... very much aware of what it would and _wouldn't_ mean?"

"I would," she says, quietly. "I'd consider it carefully. But please, don't throw anything away for me. I'm not going to get tired of you and walk away without a handfasting ribbon. I love you."

"I know you do," Aveline says quietly. "Even... even when I doubted us, I never doubted you." She smiles faintly, then brushes her lips over Hawke's lips. "But... if... someone does ask, don't say no just because I can't, alright? As long as I have you, I can be happy." A little pause before someone, a little shading on the word, as if she has someone in mind...

"I know better, now. Before I do anything remotely like accepting something like that, I'm having a long talk about how I'm not ever giving up the people I love." A dark look crosses her face, but she forces it away a moment later.

She nods. "Of course, I trust you. But if you do have that talk, and s-they gives the right answers... you can say yes, if you want."

Marian lifts her hand, running the backs of her fingers down Aveline's cheek. "Alright. Thank you."

Aveline smiles at her, gives her a quick peck, then steps back to finish dinner. They have a nice meal planned, then they can cuddle up and maybe finish the book they're reading together. Maybe take Beka for a patrol. Walk. It'll be a good night. Still, she can't help but wish, just a little, that things could be... less complicated.

_Looks like you'll be walking with just one, Merrill. You'll do fine though, and... well, Hawke is right. It won't really change things much anyway._

~*~

"I'm home!" Marian calls in Elven, heading into the house four blocks away from Varric's. She has long since stopped quibbling about the definition of "home"; she says the same thing entering Varric's home as Wynne's, and the only reason she doesn't call out the same to Aveline is that she feels a bit presumptuous to force that onto her more reluctant lover.

She drops her bag by Wynne's door, stretching as she pads her way into the kitchen, following the faint scent of tea. Wynne is sitting at the table, book in front of her, while Merrill seems completely absorbed in some kind of stitching. From the look of it, it's going to be a dress of some kind. A slinky one.

"Good morning, Hawke," Wynne says quietly. "The pot is fairly fresh. Mint and lavender."

"Thank you," she replies, still speaking Elvish as she goes about making her tea. She's not sure who knows more languages, Wynne or Varric, but it was close either way; Merrill, on the other hand, grew up speaking Elven as her native language, and so preferred to speak in it if she could. "How is your morning, Wynne?"

"This one has been up since four," the elderly magic teacher says dryly. "Evidently, she had a dream that inspired her for a new costume. So that was... bracing." Normally, Wynne is the first awake by a fair margin as well as the first to bed, but it seems she'd missed out on her quiet morning today.

Hawke raises her eyebrows. "Really? That's... very Merrill," she concludes, moving to plant a kiss on Merrill's cheek from behind.

"waaalPP!!" Merrill yelps, tone jumping as she jabs herself with the needle. From an inch behind and the left of Hawke, a deep bass rumble of a growl is heard.

"Good morning," laughs Hawke, unafraid of her own dog. Even if it's a large dog. Silence studies her for a moment, then moves to make sure her Merrill is okay. Silly pup needs someone to look after her constantly. Merrill pops her finger in her mouth as she looks over her shoulder and spots Hawke. "Uhh! 'ouh orminn," she replies brightly.

"What are you making?" Hawke asks, moving around to take a seat.

"Umm akinm," She pauses, then pulls her finger out of her mouth. "I'm making a dress for Aveline!" she says brightly. Now closer, Hawke can see some details of the dress. It's a deep blue color, almost purplish black and made of a very smooth silk of high luster that gives it a silvery sheen when the light hits it. It looks like it'd go almost to the floor in length, but the cut of the neckline is a bit more revealing than Aveline usually wears and there's no back to it save for a few straps. It's not indecent or anything, but it's fairly revealing. "It's for her to wear at your party," she adds.

"My... party?"

"For the thing," the elf explains. A glance at Wynne just gets a baffled shrug; she has no idea either.

"Merrill, my love, what thing?" The Champion sips her tea, promptly burning her tongue and yet having no regrets.

"Well, I don't know," her lover says, rolling her eyes. "Whatever it is that you're celebrating soon. About the city?" She shrugs, turning back to her project.

"I'm celebrating something soon?" She sighs. "What have your spirits been telling you?" Merrill, besides being a wonderful girl, a full-blooded elf, and Marian's lover, was also a natural Shaman; she had been speaking to spirits since she was small, and had been pushed out of her tribe for being so strange. Hawke had accepted her oddness, and fallen for her anyway, but it was sometimes trying to get information out of her when she received it in an unusual manner.

The Shaman blinks. "Oh, Nyrite just said something about you becoming smarter or something? It wasn't very clear about it, but it sounded so very happy I figured it was a good thing so... party!"

Hawke winces. "Not really. I've decided to become a Guiding Light."

Wynne glances up from her book, a look of surprise on her face for a moment. "Really? What made you decide to try to work your way into office? And one so high. I wasn't aware you'd any interest in politics in the first place.

Merrill tilts her head. "Is... that not a good thing?"

"It's really not, but, I can't really turn down this offer, not if I want to do good for the city." She sighs. "I'm not looking forward to it."

Another look of surprise from Wynne. "You mean you've an offer? Not that you're simply hoping to become one eventually?" she seeks to clarify. "How?"

"It's a stupid reason," the half-elf warns her.

"What's a stupid reason?" Merrill asks, a little confused. "...and what's a Guiding Light again?"

"Ruling body of Nyra," she informs Merrill. "Something like your Elders."

"Ohhhh. But you're not old and wrinkly," Merrill replies with a head tilt.

"Not how I would have expressed the point, but I do agree you're rather young for that sort of position," Wynne says.

Merrill shifts the target of her puzzlement to Wynne. She'd only been worried that this would make Marian be older or something. She's sure Marian would be wonderful at being elderly. Ah, in an Elder sort of way, not an... elder sort of way.

"I saved someone's kid, and now they want a pet Light," she says, resigned.

Wynne's expressions turns severe and disapproving. "You're turning it down then, correct?"

"Can't." Hawke groans. "Do you realize how many clinics I can open if I have that kind of power? Coalside needs me."

"You're... very young yet, to have that sort of responsibility," Wynne says, trying to be kind about it.

"And I told you, I can't turn it down. Surely I can do some good with it and then retire. Or do you think I'll become a despot immediately?" She keeps her tone teasing, but her mentor can surely tell she's hurt.

Wynne winces a little. "It's not.. it's nothing against you, Hawke. It's just... that's a lot of power for someone as young as you are. Power is... tempting. I have less fear of you having it as I would most. It takes a lot of time, a lot of practice and experience to learn how to wield power without hurting people, even by accident. I hope you've had enough of both to do this properly. For your sake, as much as Nyra's."

Merrill is frowning, clearly not very happy about how Wynne appears to be insulting Hawke. She reaches out to take her lover's hand, muttering, "I think she's wise."

Hawke brushes her fingertips against her lover's outstretched hand, but doesn't hold it. _Great. Wonderful. Not only am I going to fuck this up because I'm not ladylike enough, I'm going to fuck this up because I'm not wise enough. Could this be a better idea?_ "Thanks, Wynne," she says after a moment, sounding tired as she finishes her tea. "C'mon, Silence. Let's go for a walk." She gets up from the table, patting her leg for the dog to heel.

"Hawke..." Wynne says, then sighs, falling silent.

Merrill pushes the dress aside and pops up. "I'll come with you," she says quickly, tossing a glare at Wynne.

"Nah, go ahead and finish your dress. I'm sure Aveline will look great in it."

"It can wait, I want to walk with you," the elf says quietly, reaching up to touch Hawke's cheek gently.

"It's fine. I'll be back soon, okay?" Hawke presses a kiss to Merrill's palm.

"I think you'll be the brightest Light," Merrill mutters but lets her go. "I'm going to work on this in my room," she announces, gathering her things.

With only a small sigh, Hawke grabs her bag and hits the streets.

~*~

What she calls a 'walk' could more properly be called a 'light run' at the best of times. She quickly falls into a rhythm she can keep up all day -- it's nowhere near Silence's top speed, but she has stamina the mabari doesn't yet possess, though she's rapidly falling behind. This is the only real training she gets in endurance anymore, and she's loathe to give it up. _Carver probably can outrun me still. I'm not even that good at being a hero, really._

She knows better than to get down on herself. It's been a frustrating few years; she'd taken case after case, but each one had ended up small, nearly inconsequential. She'd earned money, and a good degree of fame, but not much else. A few lives saved, here and there, but nothing compared to what she'd done with Momento Mori.

_You'll never have a chance like that again. You may as well retire, see if you're any good at politics._

The problem is, she's not sure she would be. Wynne had it right: she was young, especially for a dwarf. Or, well, for a half-elf even, she was young. But if she passed up this chance, would she ever get another? Already she was concerned she'd passed her prime. Was this going to be the high point of her career?

_Why did I even come back?_

_For Merrill, and Wynne, and Zevran. For Varric, and Avaline, and Isabela._ It was almost a chant now: running down the names of her loved ones, reminding her why she came back. She couldn't find fault with a minute in any of their company. She wouldn't trade their time together for anything.

But then... Mileen had said she was a hero. Mileen had implied she had some great job to do that she hadn't finished. Had she missed her chance? Was this going to hang over her head forever?

She slows, looking around her surroundings. _Coalside. Of course. It all comes back to Coalside, doesn't it?_ The neighborhood Hawke had lived in when she first moved to Nyra was one of the worst neighborhoods in terms of safety and lack of drugs, but it was also the place that felt most like home to her: a slum, packed with people, where you could be anonymous and do as you please. Where nobody was watching, to judge you. With a regretful sigh, she starts to turn for home, catching a glimpse of a street sign as she does. _Two blocks from where I used to live._ She had no desire to see the shithole she used to live in, but the old clinic, the one Anders used to run before he was sent to Summerhill Sanitarium... that might be worth stopping by.

"Got lost Miss Hawke? Or just enjoying being free of any minders?" A now familiar voice calls to her. Glancing over, she sees a veyr pretty pink-haired Tiefling walking towards her in his guard uniform. It had taken a few months, but Andy had eventually decided to continue on as a guard, to make it his career. Being part of the Mori incident, even just helping to get people out before the ritual killed them, had given him the privilege of taking the months he'd needed to pull himself back together. The birth of his children -- for Seline had made it very clear she considered them his as much as hers and the deceased Lovan's -- had helped a great deal.

Tomas Hawke Frane and Gilly Aveline Frane, named after their respective godmothers, had been born a month to the day after the incident. Their births had been clearly the last push he and Seline had needed to accept their grief and really heal from it. The priestess had sold her glasswork business, and had sworn herself to Ciren full-time; Andy had gone back to the guard, determined to prove Lovan's faith in his ability to serve the city was justified. Given the shiny new pip on his collar, awarded just last month, he seems to be doing well.

As he nears, she notices he's got a staff strapped to his back in addition to the Merciful club nearly all the guard have nowadays. "Well, two legged minders," he adds with a polite nod at Silence. He's seen Captain Vallen (he's usually able to force out 'Aveline' but never while on duty, even in his head) walking about with Beka. And also seen Beka chase down and pin a four hundred and fifty pound half-dragon human. So he has a lot of respect of mabari, even if that guy hadn't been a fighter of any kind.

Hawke shakes her head. _It'll be zi'Hawke soon. Will he look at me the same way? Will I lose his respect? No, that's silly. I saved him, his wife, and his children. He won't forget that just because I give up my armor for fancy robes._ "Good morning, Guardsman. I'm just nostalgic, I guess; took Silence out for a run and wound up here."

Silence gives the guard a return stare then moves to sit next to Hawke's feet. "Heavy thoughts?" Andy asks with a touch of concern in his regular curiosity. "A good run can help with that, tire the body so the mind is able to work a touch slower. So can a good talk, if you want."

Hawke gives a self-deprecatory laugh. "I think I've had enough of talking for the moment. Everyone's got an opinion, looks like."

Andy shifts a little, looking a little hesitant. "Alright... do.. well, if you don't want to talk about... your trouble... then..." he says slowly, clearly working his way up to something.

Hawke pats Silence on the head, mostly for something to do with her hands. "Did you have something you wanted to talk about? I'd be glad to get out of my head for a little while."

"Teach me!" Andy blurts before she finishes the word 'while' and then promptly turns a rather fetching red.

"Teach you...." she begins, slowly.

"Err, sorry. I mean... what you do," he explains, then pauses to take a breath and try again. "Your magic, how you use it. I... I've been trying to learn the staff and I'm not bad with it. And I can manage a few spells but..." He lifts his head, determinedly meeting her gaze with uncertain eyes. "I'd like to be your student, Magus Hawke."

Hawke blinks at him, her face frozen. _My... what?!_ "Ah. Uh. that's." _Be encouraging, dammit, he needs this._ "I congratulate your... ah... enthusiasm," she begins, wincing slightly. _You sound patronizing_. "I mean, I'm glad you're... trying to.. " _do not say better yourself_ "Learning is essential for a sound mind," she blathers.

Andy winces for a second, before plastering over it with a stiff look of politeness. "I- thank you, Magus Hawke, for your time. Enjoy your walk and... I hope you work through your problem," he says, voice a little tight to try and hide the hurt at being brushed off.

"Wait!" she says, bunching a bundle of Silence's fur in one hand. She runs the other through her short hair, looking awkward and young for once. "I'd be glad to help you find a teacher. I've just, I've never taken a student before. I wouldn't know where to begin."

Andy's posture relaxes a little as he realizes she's not brushing him off or unwilling because of him, but because of herself. "Well... maybe we could both learn a little? Me about... everything and you about teaching it?" he offers tentatively. "I- I'm not expecting a miracle or anything. And I know you have a lot of your own things, so I wouldn't expect much of your time, I'm willing to work on things by myself, I was always good about doing my homework," he finishes with a weak laugh.

Hawke sighs with relief, smiling faintly. "Truth be told, I might have more time than I thought on my hands."

Now looking worried, Andy leans in a touch. "Did something happen, Hawke? Is... is everyone okay?" he asks carefully.

"Oh! Yes. Yeah, everyone's fine. I'm just... considering... some big decisions, is all." _Like retiring. And going into politics. Probably both._

Andy shifts a little. After the least few years, he likes to think they're friends, but.. "Seli should be home in about an hour or so. I'm sure the twins would love to see their Aunnie Awke," he offers, knowing the magus would see the invite as the suggestion to talk to Seli that is really is. Well, and the toddlers would really love to see their favorite auntie.

She smiles, fondly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to shut you out, I'm just... I'm in a state today." She sighs. "You'll find out soon enough: I'm considering retiring to become a Guiding Light. There's an offer on the table I don't feel I can refuse."

Andy's eyebrows shoot up, clearly not having expected that one. After a moment, however, he slowly nods. "I could see how that would be something too tempting to pass up," he says slowly. "Not likely to ever get another chance after all." He frowns then. "Wait, what do you mean 'retire?'"

Hawke grimaces, releasing Silence's fur to pat the dog again, a hearty thump. "I'm sure it'll take up a lot of time. And if I take you on as a student, I'm sure that'll take a lot of time too. And really, I'm not all that useful anymore -- I can do a lot more trying to reform Nyra than I can saving one person at a time. This city doesn't need heroes, it needs politicians."

Andy gives her a curious look. "...how much do you know about the Lights? I mean, how they work and all?" he asks slowly. "They only met one a month normally, though special votes can come up. Most of the Lights have other jobs- except for the Speakers and Lord Panis, none of them are politicians full-time. I mean, at first, you'd probably have to devote a lot of time to it, but once you select some staff and establish yourself..." Speakers were nominated to the Guiding Lights based on political ability, as the five of them spoke for special interest groups and under-represented demographics; Hawke was considering becoming one of the ten Sages who represent various types of magic, an honor usually earned thanks to advances in the Arcane realms. Her form of combat -- mixing fighting with spellcasting simultaneously -- was rare enough to qualify, if only just. It wasn't as specialized as zi'Smith's studies into mental healing with magic, but it was still unusual.

Said magus gives a nod. "I'm really inexperienced. And I'm very...." She hesitates, before finally settling on, "unpolished. I expect it'll be rather time-consuming trying to catch up."

"Hire help," he says simply. "Varric and Captain Vallen would be good starts. If they can't help themselves, I'm sure they could point you at someone." He frowns then. "Unpolished? Hawke... you're the Champion of Coalside. If you walk in there in burlap and-- and plant fronds glued to your bu-- legs, then we'll be seeing a new wave of fashion within the week." Andy grins a little, the expression charming and just a touch devilish. "They could use a bit of a shake-up, I'd say. Even Lord Panis can't get all those fossils marching his own self after all."

Hawke's smile turns shy, nervous, and slightly embarrassed. "Thanks," she says, quietly. "But really, that title's a bit of a joke you know. Don't get me wrong, I'm very glad I was able to stop that... that, and I'm very glad I was able to come back from it. But the rest... I'm still just me, underneath it all."

Andy snorts. "Hawke... it's not a joke. I... I may not know you as well as most of your friends, your Clan, but... I know you're a person, not a myth. You snort sometimes when you laugh too hard, you sing atrocious ballads when you're drunk and, although I've no first hand experience, according to Merrill, you steal the sheets in your sleep." He smiles then, a quiet smile of content. "None of that makes you any less a hero. It's... actually kind of nice. Realizing that heroes are people too. You're just Hawke, sure, but... that's a wonder of a thing to be."

Her smile wavers, falters. "Maybe. I hope you're right. I hope being me is enough. It's just... do you ever feel like there's a limit to how good you can get? That you've hit a plateau and that's it? It's all downhill from there?"

Andy winces. After a moment, he swallows, then admits a little weakly, "...that's why I asked for your help. I... I've been trying to learn on my own, finding what books I can but none of them... Yes. I understand not feeling like you're good enough, that you won't ever be good enough."

Hawke nods. "I think maybe we're both at a point where... for lack of a better term, the human phrase 'put up or shut up' seems appropriate. We need new challenges. So, teaching and politics for me; magical training for you. Deal?"

Andy smiles gratefully at her. "As long as we have each other and our friends, I'm sure we'll be fine," he says as he takes the offered hand. Silence, as reserved as she can be, is still a young dog. Edging forward, she sticks her nose to their clasped hands, as if to get in on whatever it is they're doing.

"And of course, combat training for Silence," Hawke laughs. "Who could forget you?"

The mabari look up at them placidly, then a deep rumble echoes around the street. Her ears tuck back and she ducks her head in embarrassment. "... I think we have a pig joint she might like," Andy adds to his invitation from earlier. "Come over for my lunch break at least?"

"Yeah, that sounds nice. And it'll be good to see the twins again." She smiles.

"Wonderful," he says as he gives Silence a quick pat, then offers his arm to Hawke. Hawke takes it, much cheered by the prospect of time with her favorite babies.

~*~

The newspaper delivered to Varric's home every morning was usually worthless -- full of only the things everyone already knows, while Varric prefers the news that's on the verge of happening, when he can brace himself for it or try to divert it. But today's headline was downright cheering: _Champion of Coalside to become Guiding Light._

Better still was the first line of the article: "The Champion of Coalside, our very own Marian Tethras Hawke, has announced today that she will be taking a position among the Guiding Lights." Funny that -- last he checked, Marian's middle name was Bellflower. "Little brat," he murmurs, the back of his mind making a note to be sure this won't affect any of his own, slightly underhanded, legal cleverness regarding his daughter. Tossing the paper on the table, he heads for her room to knock loudly. While humming.

There's a suspiciously long silence before Marian answers the door, wearing her bathrobe. "Yes? Oh, [good morning. I'll be out for breakfast in a moment]." She changes to Dwarven once she sees Varric, her sleepy mind slipping languages automatically.

Still humming, Varric nods as he studies the floor to the side of the door. And then escapes, quickly, when he hears Isabela call out her own good morning. In the kitchen, he gets out some already cooked porridge and sets it nearish the fire. Grab a loaf of bread and some jam, and there. Breakfast is cooked.

Hawke smiles to herself, closing the door and setting about getting dressed. _You know, this is so much easier with Isabela over than Rosemary... I'll have to talk to her about that._ A few minutes later she emerges, wearing a collared shirt and leather pants. She'll put on the armor later; with this getup and this hair, she looks fetchingly butch, in Bela's estimation. She earns herself a sly comment as the sea wench rolls over to go back to sleep, and heads out of the bedroom with her head high, ready to face the day.

"Morning Hawke," Varric says, then frowns. "How long does that have to heat again?" he asks, gesturing at the iron pot of oat and fruit porridge Wynne and Merrill send over regularly to keep them from starving. Or living off tavern food. He's already dressed and pressed for the day, having been up for a few hours already. Early dwarf finds the ore vein and all that.

"Until it smells good," she chuckles. "It's already cooked. Did you sleep well?"

"Sound-proofing is working like a charm," he replies with a smirk, then sniffs. Hrrrm. Maybe if he pushes the pot _in_ the flame it'd heat faster? "Good morning so far as well," he adds.

 _Oh good, because I'm pretty sure I called out Isabela's name a good dozen times last night,_ thinks Hawke with a smirk. "Oh? Get another invoice paid?"

"Several, thank you very much. And I finally tracked down that math error in the Goldsmith warehouse. "He gives her a bemused look. "Did you know that the elvin ['ton]' and the kender ['ton'] both translate to 'ton' in common but are, in fact, not the same weight? Seriously, what the fuck even, right? It's not a huge difference, like ten pounds, but when you're shipping a few hundred tons- either type- a year... it adds up." He shakes his head. "Just when you think you know words mean... or names.." He adds as he sets a glass of ale at a place a the table for her. One that just happens to have the paper facing it.

"Words are miraculous. I'm always fascinated by how hard we mortals strive to misunderstand each other," laughs Hawke, taking a seat. She reaches for the ale, ignoring the paper.

"That they are..." he agrees. "Names even more so," he hints lightly, nudging the pot deeper into the flames. Sure, that can cause it to burn, but just a little closer won't hurt right?

 _Names?_ "Varric, you'll burn the porridge that way," she says, amused. _What's he on about?_

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbles, swinging it back out a touch. "I bow to the wisdom of Marian Tethras Hawke," he says sarcastically.

The name makes her smile-- until her brain catches up, and the smile freezes on her lips. "[Hells]," she swears in Infernal. "I meant to say something..."

Varric nods at the paper in front of her. He doesn't look upset at all at least. "So..."

She blushes deeply. "Merry Winsol?" she asks, sheepishly.

He smiles then, reaching over to place a hand on her's. He thinks a moment, then asks slowly, "did... did you want more than the name? I mean... you're of age and all but... if you wanted, you know."

"[What is it with people making things legal this week]," she mumbles in Draconic, not unkindly. "I... don't need anything else. Really, I wasn't planning to... It's just, Carver..." she gestures helplessly. "I wanted something more tangible, was all. And I was angry at Carver." _And at Mother._

"Just an offer Hawke," he says gently. He studies her a moment, then offers, "as for the 'making it legal' thing... one, practical side, it can make some other legal stuff easier. Taxes, medical rights, and so forth. But that's just a small thing. Mostly, at least for one, it's... it's a way of, well, shouting to everyone, stranger and friend, what we are. Kind of the same as giving them that name for the paper."

"I didn't," she protests. "They must have asked at the Hall of Records."

He laughs a little. "So you made it legal?" he points out in with a known-answer question.

She groans. "Is there any language you don't speak? Yes, fine. I changed my name legally last Spring. I didn't... do anything else, not without you, but..."

"D'ziriak, protean and druidic. Well, I understand d'ziriak, but I can't keep a rhythm well enough to tap back a reply, " he replies promptly. "And... I wouldn't mind. Don't mind what you did either. It's... it's good."

She nods. "My esteemed brother changed his name to Carver Amell when Gamlen died. I drank for a bit, then decided, fuck it, if he can change his name why can't I."

"...ouch," he says softly. "You never said anything," he adds after a moment, a quiet question.

She shrugs. "It hurt, and I was petty and dumb, and then I got over it. When I thought about it, I rather liked my new name anyway. So. I figured I'd tell you... sometime... and then moved on with life."

"...fair enough," he finally says. "...shit!" Pushing away from the table, he swings the porridge off the fire.

Hawke laughs. "I warned you!"

He grumbles something under his breath as he looks the food over. "...just a bit burnt. Adds... texture and flavor," he says stubbornly.

"Sure it does," she snarks. "Anyway, I'm glad you approve." She pauses then, in the interests of openness, slyly adds, "It's better than my first, drunken application anyway."

"Oh sweet stone, what did you do?" he asks, serving them out their breakfast. Out of preference for her sissy elf-blood, he gives ther blander portion.

'I put down, and I kid you not, [Motherfucking] Hawke Tethras. Firstname, middle, last." There's not a lot of good curses in Elven, since they all tend to come out flowery-sounding to her ears, but she'd done it anyway, feeling like she'd needed some elf in her name if she was dropping Bellflower.

"I... am not sure how to go from here. I could say 'Zevran would be so smug' but ick. I could say 'I'd love to see you introduce yourself to Sworder with that.' Or I could go with 'Seli would be touched you think so highly of her.' In the end, I think '[Badass Bitch] Hawke Tethras would suit you even better." The curse rolls off the tongue better in Orcish. But then, everything sounds angry in Orcish.

Hawke doubles over in laughter, clutching at her stomach. "Thank you, Papa," she stammers out, when the laughing fit subsides enough to let her speak.

He makes a little bow, then pokes his spoon at her. "Eat your breakfast, I'm still holding out for you to grow some decent heft."

"Never gonna happen," she laughs, picking up her spoon.


	2. "The paying of debts"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke agrees to take the Guiding Light position. Isabela decides to pay some old debts. A friend of Merrill's comes to visit.

Hawke pushes open Wynne's door, Rosemary a step behind her. She lets herself and guest into the parlor, smiling tiredly as she spies both of the women in residence there. "Good afternoon."

"Oh hello!" Merrill says brightly. "Good morning Hawke, Rosemary." She leans up from her seat on the ground, Silence's head in her lap, so Hawke can give her a kiss.

"Welcome," Wynne adds politely, her coolness more to Rosemary than Hawke. The catfolk girl's improper behavior and false airs offend her reserve. Even Zevran has learned to... limit his forwardness to words and closeness.

Hawke kisses Merrill gamely, causing Rosemary's fur to bristle slightly. She knows better than to complain, but the girl gets irritated when Hawke makes displays in front of her. Not that Hawke cares, really. She settles onto the couch, and Rosemary settles in next to her, lounging across her lap. Hawke pets her fur gently, seeming unconcerned. "How was your morning?"

"I started teaching Silence how to climb trees!" Merrill says proudly, causing Wynne to shake her head slightly and Silence to whine softly.

"Other than that, fairly typical," Wynne adds. "How has your morning?"

"Oh, you know, terrifying. Did you see the Herald?"

"Of course, Merrill and I enjoy reading the horoscopes together," Wynne replies. "I try to tempt her with the rest of the paper but... it's probably a lost cause."

Merrill shrugs as she inches over a little so she can rest her head against Hawke's legs. Silence grunts a little, but follows after. "If its important, Nyrite, Hawke or Varric would tell me. And if its funny, Zevran would."

Hawke raises her eyebrows. "Well, alright then," she says, after a moment. _I guess we're not talking about thisL_. "How's the gown coming, Merrill?"

Merrill slants her head up to look at Hawke. "Really well actually. I managed to find some celestial mithril in the Bazaar and Varric helped me find a smith who spun it into thread. It's amazing to work with! I'm just about done the hem but I think the detail work for the design I want on the sides is going to take a few more days to finish, it's getting really complex."

Hawke whistles. "I'm sure she'll look amazing."

Rosemary butts her head under Hawke's hand, causing the half-elf to resume petting her.

"Do you think Aveline would think little diamond seeds on the hem and bodice are too much? I know she likes to look all professional, but, well, sparkly!"

"Well reasoned," Wynne murmurs with amusement.

"Honestly, I'm not sure how comfortable she is in formal wear." _Oh god, what passes for mage formal wear? I'm going to have to stop wearing armor, aren't I?_ Her hand twitches on Rosemary's fur, and the girl make a small, unhappy sound. When Hawke's hand doesn't move, she worms her way further into Hawke's lap, turning to look at her reproachfully. "Sorry," the hero mumbles, resuming her stroking.

"Oh....." Merrill says slowly, having not considered that. "...I should probably tell her I'm making her a dress, shouldn't I?" she asks. Still looking up, she watches the drama above her thoughtfully..

"Yes," Hawke laughs. "Yes, you should." Rosemary's eyes drift half-closed, and she settles in, comfortably. Marian's hand strays from her arm to her stomach, but never near anything inappropriate; she just... pets her.

"She acts a bit like Silence, doesn't she?" Merrill whispers in case the catfolk is asleep, looking back down at the mabari with her head in Merrill's lap. She means it as a simple observation, not seeing any kind of insult in having some of one's behaviors likened to an animal, much less such an intelligent one as a mabari.

"I most certainly do not." It's an odd tone Rosemary takes -- like she wishes to be indignant, but Hawke's hand relaxes her, so it comes out a sleepy, lazy sort of indignant, as though she's teasing. "I act like a cat. That... thing... is a dog. Very different."

"I'm sure," chuckles Hawke.

"Do not--" she yawns, blushing faintly. "mock me," she concludes, most of the fire in her tone gone.

"Okaay?" Merrill says slowly, glancing between the two furry beings, each getting pet as they lay with their head in someone's lap. "Ummm. So how has your day been, Rosemary?"

"Peaceful," she purrs. "Oh, I did find a broach that would set off my eyes wonderfully. It had sapphires set in gold -- three of them." That would compliment her blue eyes, and stand out against her white fur. "Unfortunately, I had not the gold to purchase," she laments, eyes drifting all the way closed.

"Oh that's a shame," Merrill says sympathetically. That happens to her a lot, she'll just go for a walk, find herself in the Bazaar then see something pretty or tasty and realize she didn't bring her coin purse. And she can never seem to find her way back to the right stall if she fetches it. "I could make you a scarf or a hat in those colors," she offers, hoping to perk her up a little, and maybe make a friend, just a little?

Rosemary opens her eyes, peering at Merrill. "Could you? A scarf would be lovely."

"I still have most of the bolt of blue fabric from Aveline's dress. I can embroider it with gold thread with a pretty design- maybe flowers on a vine? Or perhaps a silhouette of a city against the sky?" she half-asks, half-ponders aloud. "Do you want just a short fashionable scarf or a real eight or twelve foot long one?

"Fashionable," the catfolk decides, after a moment of pondering. "Can you do a hawk motif?"

Merrill blinks a few times. "Hawke? I suppose I could try, but it's hard to get that much detail, I'm not sure if people would be able to recognize her," she says cautiously. "Or do you mean like... snowflakes and staves and- ooooh! I could do little symbolism things for each of her Clan."

"I meant the bird." Rosemary frowns, watching Merrill.

"Ooooooh, that makes sense too. I could do a bird-hawk," Merrill says with a nod. "Maybe with some clouds for the background?"

"Yes," she decides, with a nod.

Hawke chuckles. "That sounds lovely, Merrill."

Merrill beams up at them both as she happily begins to plan out what she'd need for this new project.

"Do you have any plans for today, Hawke?" Wynne asks curiously.

"Not particularly. I figured I'd enjoy this afternoon with friends, as starting tomorrow morning my schedule's likely to become quite busy."

"I'm glad to hear you're taking this seriously, Hawke," Wynne says softly, trying to keep her voice casually supportive. "As well as not letting it consume you," she adds.

_Not let it consume me -- right. I didn't tell her I'm retiring. I didn't tell, uh, anyone except Andy. Shit, Andy!_ "Oh, right, I forgot to mention -- I've taken on a student. Is it okay if I hold his lessons here? I figure having my own teacher on hand to supervise might be useful."

Wynne looks a little startled, then pleased. "Of course. Might I ask whom you've decided to teach?" she asks, sounding almost excited.

"Ah, my friend Andy actually. Seli's husband. I don't recall if you met him?"

"A few times, yes," Wynne says. They've crossed paths a time or two at Varric's, when the dwarf invites everyone over for whatever reason. Plus... _then_ , as well. "I hadn't realized he was a caster. Or is he hoping to become one?"

"Oh! How are Tomas and Gily?" Merrill asks eagerly, always happy to hear about the youngest members of her Clan.

"He thinks he might have the same kind of magic I have -- that subtle, combat-focused magic, not the ice thing. He's reached a plateau in his career, so we're going to see if I can teach him how to overcome it. The twins are doing good, I spent some time over there yesterday. Gily informed me she's going to become a pirate princess when she grows up, but Tomas is more worried about the dragon that lives in his closet."

"They have a dragon? Can we have-"

"No Merrill, we cannot have a dragon. Nor do they have a real dragon, I suspect. It's likely just that Tomas is having normal childhood nightmares. I am more concerned about where little Gilly has gotten the idea of being a pirate princess from," Wynne says, giving Hawke a pointed look.

Hawke laughs. "She was going to be a princess, but Auntie Isabela talked her into piracy. I'm sure she'll grow out of it."

Wynne sighs. "I suppose there are worse things she could pick up from Isabela. At least being a pirate is harder to actually do than, well. Other Isabela type things. Regardless, I would be honored to support you in becoming a teacher, Hawke," she says, voice warm and proud.

_Nothing wrong with Isabela, she thinks, but keeps to herself. I wish my family all got along with each other as well as I got along with all of them._ "Thank you," she says instead, with a warm smile.

"I asked Varric what a Guiding Light was," Merrill says suddenly. "And he said it like an Elder, a boss but not entirely, of the whole city, especially the other people that work for the city itself. Does that mean you're Aveline's boss?"

"Technically?" the Champion says, blinking. "I think not me specifically. I think we give direction and Aveline's boss makes it happen." Rosemary begins purring -- a soft, rumbling deep in her chest.

Silence's ears perk and her eyes swivel to stare at Rosemary on the couch. Merrill giggles. "Does that mean you can order that she be ordered to wear a funny hat on patrol? Or all the guards to wear funny hats? I think it would make the guard seem much less scary to people!"

Hawke laughs. "I think the guard is meant to be scary, Merrill. It stops people doing crimes."

"Well, yes, I suppose..." the elf admits slowly, pondering that. "Maybe they should wear scary hats then?" A pause. "What would a scary hat look like?"

"If you find one, I can suggest it to Aveline," she offers. Rosemary locks eyes with Silence -- a pretty aggressive move for a predator.

Silence yawns deliberately, showing fangs larger than Rosemary's thumb and a mouth big enough to take a hand off just above the wrist. Display over, she settles back down Merrill's lap placidly.

"Okay. Dress, scarf, scary hat, riding harness, beards, nun's habit," Merrill recites for herself, nodding firmly.

As Silence yawns, Rosemary lets out a subtle hiss of displeasure, but doesn't otherwise strike.

"Nun's habit?" asks Hawke, eyebrows raised.

"Zevran's idea," Merrill replies happily as she gives Silence a good scritching, paying extra attention to behind the mabari's ears. "It's going to be a gift for Seli, though he says he wants to keep the mock-up for you."

"I didn't think Ciren took vows of that type," wonders Hawke. Rosemary snorts, rolling her eyes.

Merrill blinks owlishly. "Vows of what type?"

Wynne studiously reads her book- Hawke can field this conversation, she had to explain what 'vore' was last week when Merrill overhead someone make a tasteless joke about trolls. It's just as well the poor girl doesn't really eat meat normally anyway...

"Many gods accept dedication in the form of vows that give up some thing or another in order to dedicate the self to the god's principles more closely. Many of those who undertake such vows become nuns, cloistering themselves and dressing themselves in the traditional habit you speak of."

"Ohhhh," Merrill says slowly. "That... sounds nice? I guess?"

A bit surprised at how Hawke explained the vow thing, and realizing she'd done Hawke a disservice in how she assumed it would be answered, Wynne frowns at herself internally. The real habit, the one for Seli, is very pretty and flattering while being something she can wear in public with her twins without getting dirty looks. The first mock-up, the one Zevran had her keep and tweak a little, is... well. Merrill had made a mistake with the way the skirt draped, so there's a kind of hitch in the back that would expose a rather lot if the person bends at all. And it's only held together by a few loops of thread at the main seams, so it can be torn off and repaired easily. She's rather looking forward to Zevran's plans for said habit... or at least, watching his plan for Hawke in that habit.

Rosemary yawns. "Ciren's priests are deviants. They love to pervert holy things in their mating rituals."

"Pervert is a strong word." Hawke's tone is disapproving, but it seems to roll off Rosemary's back.

Hearing the bit about Ciren, Merrill frowns. "Seli's a very nice woman, not at all perverted," she protests. "You should met her, she's a lovely person and I think you'd be great friends."

Rosemary rolls her eyes. "Of course," she says, sounding disinterested.

Hawke lets out a small growl of frustration under her breath. _Seli's worth a dozen of you, cat_ , she finds herself thinking, in Dwarven. "Anyway, that's a rather long list. Do you want me to read to you some while you work?"

"Oh yes please! I can work on the scarf if Rosemary is staying. Or I can work on the beards. I should probably wait on the dress until I talk to Aveline..." Merrill muses. She still needs an idea for the hat and buckles for the harness so... yeah, scarf or beards.

"Rosemary-my-love, I need to get up to get the storybook. Dare I ask why the beard?" Rosemary gives Hawke a peevish look, but does sit up, stretching as if she just needed to get comfortable upright on her own merits.

"We're a dwarf clan so I'm making us beards," she says simply as she scoots Silence over so she can fetch her crafting bag.

Wynne's attention- and eyes- snap to the young elf. "Beg pardon?"

Rosemary lets out a low, rumbling growl -- one that increases in volume over the span of several seconds. Hawke scowls. "I keep saying, we are **not** a Dwarf clan. Nor an Elven one. We're a mixed clan."

"I know, but I thought it would be funny for us all to wear beards next time Varric invites us all over," the elf explains as she heads for her room.

Wynne shakes her head slowly, a smile forming. "His expression would be... amusing," she allows, pleased she's not going to have to figure out way around wearing a fake beard full-time.

From her room, Merrill calls out, "I already have seven made, so I just need two little ones for Tomas and Gilly, doggie ones for Beka and Silence, and then ones for you and Rosemary."

"And that explains why she was measuring Silence's face yesterday," Wynne comments with some relief.

Hawke shakes her head. "She's a wonder, our Merrill."

"Do you think you shall move soon?" asks Rosemary, out of the blue. Hawke stills at the bookshelf, her hand upon the spine of a volume.

"Move?"

Rosemary smirks slightly. "All Lights live in Aurora. It is known."

"Not entirely true," Wynne comments. "A quarter of them live in Skysong. And I think a few live elsewhere, mostly Speakers wishing to remain with those that they advocate for."

"Skysong is also acceptable," says Rosemary, in a tone that implies that Meadows is not acceptable.

"I don't have that kind of money," protests Hawke, still at the bookshelf.

"There are ways." implies Rosemary.

_'Also acceptable'? There are barely over a hundred people living in Skysong, in about twenty households and it rates 'acceptable' to her,_ Wynne thinks to herself. _Such... high standards that one has._

Merrill tropes back in, a heavy canvas bag overflowing with fabric in one hand and a small box in the other -- a gift from Zevran, it's similar to a bag of holding but less suitable for travel due to the shape and rigidness. Of course, that also made it easier to enchant, but such is the tradeoffs of life. "What's this about money?" she asks curiously.

"Apparently I have to move to Aurora." says Hawke. She sounds perhaps a touch higher in pitch, a pinch more strained -- meaning she's probably freaking out and trying not to show it.

"...Varric's moving?" she asks with wide-eyes, clearly unhappy that Hawke is moving away.

Rosemary sniffs. "Hawke will want her own residence. It shows prestige and independence."

"I-- I suppose, yes. But I still plan to be over here frequently," the hero adds, hastily.

"Why?" Merrill asks, baffled. "Hawke is Hawke. She doesn't need a house to prove she's a hero and a champion."

"Well said, Merrill," Wynne comments. "I vaguely recall that Lights are given a holding in Bedrock, perhaps you could use that as a... showplace, should you need to entertain high-society? It seems a waste, to purchase an expensive house in Aurora just for the one night a fortnight you'd need it, given your... preferred sleeping arrangements."

Rosemary sniffs again. "You cannot entertain in an office."

"I'm meant to entertain?" Now that's a definite squeak.

"Yay parties!" Merrill cheers.

Wynne frowns. "It is one of the most common forms of enticing others to support your cause or offer donations, yes," she says carefully, not wanting to come off as scolding. "And I recall that at least some of the offices in Bedrock have a ballroom but I'm uncertain if they all do."

"Ballrooms are one thing. Parlors are quite another." The fluffy tip of Rosemary's tail twitches. "Really, Champion."

Hawke takes the book, licking her suddenly-dry lips. "I... see."

"You should ask Seli," Merrill says suddenly.

"Ask her...?" asks Hawke, turning to face Merrill.

"About hosting parties?" Merrill says slowly. "Because she helps do the parties for her temple? She could probably help you. She might even know someone that- umm, does it a lot? For work, ummm," she glances at Wynne, who supplies, "an party coordinator perhaps?" Merrill nods eagerly.

Hawke lets out a breath in relief. "Oh! That's a great idea, Merrill, thank you so much! Seli will definitely know what to do." Rosemary looks oddly peeved, her tail curling more.

The elf beams at her, deeply pleased at having been able to help. "Oh, Rosemary, do you have a preference on style? I mean, do you like the thinner elven dress scarf or the fuller gnomish style? The gnomish one would allow more area for the design."

"The elven," she says, her tone less languid than before. As Hawke sits, she nestles back into the half-elf's lap, her tail curling protectively around Hawke's waist.

"[Missed you too]," Hawke murmurs in the language of Catfolk, stroking Rosemary's belly. This seems to comfort Rosemary, who relaxes a hair more into Hawke.

Merrill nods as she gets out the bolt of fabric. She glances at Rosemary, eyeing her neck to judge the circumference- for a scarf, she doesn't have to be all that exact after all- and gets to work as Hawke reads aloud the story of Mendellion Grassweaver and his travels across the Evernight Forest.

~*~

"I look ridiculous."

It's impossible for Zevran to evaluate this statement; he's currently in the hallway outside Hawke's bedroom at Varric's house, and the aforementioned lady is inside the bedroom. Still, he's reasonably certain it's not true. Whatever gown she was wearing could hardly be bad enough for her to lock herself in her bedroom and refuse to come out -- especially given she was meant to be heading to The Doctor's home to meet up with her patron and sign the forms that will confer upon her Guiding Light status, witnessed by a small group of Lights to prevent forgery. They're likely to be favorably inclined toward Hawke -- one of them is even named Huntinghawk, for Astea's sake.

The drow-born assassin has not really changed much in the last three years, at least in appearance and behavior. He wears his hair a bit longer, today's ponytail reaching the cleft of his ass -- which is visible due to his leather pants -- and he's taken to wearing a tongue stud, but not much else has changed. His lifestyle however... He's never actually explained how it came about, or where the previous owner got to, but he's now the proud owner of a rather sizable brothel. A legal one, of course, or at last it is now that Zevran owns it, but a brothel. Strangely, he seems very content with this somewhat bizarre career shift, going from slave to assassin/seducer to Madame (and yes, he insists on being called Madame Zevvy at work, though it seems more because it amuses him than anything else). Looking after the ladies and lads, teaching them and ensuring they're looked after... it soothes something in him.

"Unless you are dressed as a festive entertainer, I highly doubt this," he coaxes her. 'Come now, let me come in."

"It's just.... ugh. I don't have the body type for this _at all_." The slight wail of desperation in Hawke's voice belies her attempt at humor.

"Would it make you feel better if I wore a dress with you?" he teases her. "Or perhaps Varric?"

"Oye!" Varric shouts from his office down the hall.

"Are you sure they know what I look like?" she moans. "Maybe you can wear the dress and sign my name and I'll wear armor and pretend to be a bodyguard."

"...I must say I'm tempted, if only for the prank," he mutters to himself. "Mon faucon séduisant, I assure you that you are indeed a very attractive, very beautiful woman of sublime grace and valor. You will astound them with the vision of splendor that you are.."

_Okay. Deep breath, Hawke. You got this._

The door slowly opens, giving Zevran a glimpse of his falcon at last. The dress is pink -- not a soft peach that might go well with her tanned, sunworn skin, but a vivid pink, girlish and striking. The style is "in", at least; it's a sundress, coming to just above the knee, perfect for the hot weather. The neckline is cut low, in a V-neck, trimmed with little frilly pleats and a large bow dead center. The cut is meant for someone with more bust than Hawke, clearly, as all it shows off on her is the nasty knot of scarring dead center on her chest where she...

The skirt is the worst part. Starting just above the waist, there is tier after tier of bright pink ruffles, catching the eye as she moves. A daintier woman might have pulled this style off, or a heavier one with human curves, but while Hawke is lean, she is also muscular. The effect is one of overcompensation that makes her look more masculine than she normally does in armor.

There is a matching pink bow, which she has awkwardly pinned to her short hair in the hopes of feminizing the cut. It does not help; it is far too large.

"Alright... is there a reason you've... picked that dress?" Zevran asks very carefully, face blank. Perhaps... she lost a bet with 'bela? Or... upset Merrill? _Badly._

"Rosemary picked it," she wails, blushing vividly. "This is a disaster."

"Why does she hate you?" he asks curiously. "Did you sleep with her brother or something perhaps?"

"She -- nevermind that, can you fix it?!" _This is awful. I'm never going to make it as a guiding light. I can't walk in there like this?!_ Hawke's breath comes rapidly, as she struggles to keep her panic under control.

"It would take Ciren himself to make anyone but me look sexy in that dress," he says flatly. "But if you mean mean--"

It's then when the dwarf comes around the corner and stops dead in his tracks. "Stonespit, Hawke, what are you wearing? That--"

"Shut up, Varric," Zevran says firmly. "We still have an hour and a half, and the Doctor is less than thirty minutes away on foot so, Varric, hire a coach, that will save us ten minutes. Have them met us at Voice in the Dark. As for us... I think perhaps I have an idea."

~*~

An hour later, Zevran leads Hawke out of his brothel towards the coach. It had taken a bit of coaxing, needling and out right badgering, but he finally been able to get her to accept that he and the handful of employees he'd gotten to help knew what they were doing. She's wearing soft leather trousers, with a dark blue silk half wrap around her legs with a flowing design sewn in scarlet thread of various protective glyphs. Not enchanted of course, but it looks very pleasing. Her shoes are black boots, with more heel than she's used to but not so thick she can't manage, which is helped by them being wide as well.

She has a blue silk shirt on, with wide, flowing sleeves that are slit on both sides but joined at her elbow and wrist to keep it from flapping about. Each wrist is also bedecked with a silver bracelet with garnets and lapis, and a matching pair of earrings in each ear. Overtop the shirt, she's wearing her breastplate, though it's softened by a long flowing cloak of black dragonhide. Well, softened as much as dragonhide allows. Her hair is held back by strands of delicate silver wire that glimmer and shine with an effect similar to muted faerie fire. Across her back is her staff, currently gussied up with some matching dragonhide leather ribbons.

All in all, the image is that of a powerful woman, tempered by battle and mistress of staff and magic. After all, Zevran points out, she is to be a Guiding Light. A position of power and influence over a city built and based on magic, not becoming some kind of trophy wife or prissy noble. She is an arcane warrior and a leader, not some silly girl.

"Be who you are, my love. Nothing more is needed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_"And I never will play_  
_the wild rover no more,_

_no, nay, never_  
_no nay never, no more_  
_will I play the wild rover,_  
_no never, no more!"_

The Gilder Goose was in fine spirits tonight, and that only meant one thing -- someone was buying free drinks. Sounds like a good reason for Zevran to stop in, if only for old time's sake.

He should have known: right in the thick of things, lifting a mug for a toast, is Isabela, the pirate wench without a ship. She's gotten herself a fancy new bandanna, meaning her smuggling empire must be doing well; her airship he'd seen parked over the gates, but he hadn't seen the woman herself since she'd arrived a few days ago. Apparently, she got lonesome without him.

Waiting for her to lower her empty mug, he snatches her hand to tug her into a whirl. "Ma'bela!" he cries with a wink. "How fares the lustiest pirate in our landlocked city!"

Isabela throws her head back and laughs as he twirls her. "Zevvy! How fares the sexiest elf in Nyra?" she replies, when he's done. "Want to go somewhere private and catch up?"

"That's--" He pauses his words but not his feet. "Actually, yes! I know just the perfect place in fact!"

Ten minutes later, he's leading her to a rather nice three story building in Lily and Oak. There's an elaborate hedgewall around most of it, with a wrought iron gate draped in ivy that's open but watched by a massive half-orc in chainmail- and silk, interestingly enough. He glances at Zevran and nods silently, not stopping them as they enter the grounds. The house is well lit and has music pouring out in the yard. To one side is a small garden with a few shaded nooks, to the other a small sand pit of the sort used for many yard sports.

The building itself is wood, oak she thinks, and above the door is a small sign of a slim, female finger over a set of lips in the common gesture for silence. Along the bottom of the sign is written in elvish style but the common tongue, 'Voice in the Dark.' There's another watcher on a bench near the front door, a kender female in leather with a crossbow discreetly tucked at her side. More interestingly, there's a pair of elven ladies wearing only thing silk robes on the porch, one of them painting a portrait of the other as she breastfeeds an infant.

"This place is new," she notes casually, as they walk in. "I've heard good things, though. Apparently it's one of the classiest brothels in the city."

Zevran smirks a little. "I've heard wonderful things about the new owner. Invested a lot of money and time into the place," he says before the two ladies spot him. The painter, facing them, pops up and waves- revealing she's not wearing anything, ah, supportive despite her need for such- at them, a greeting on her lips before she stops herself from shouting so close the babe. This, naturally, gets the mother's attention, who also turns and spots them with a broad smile.

"Hi Zevran!" she calls out softly. "Bringing a friend?" she asks with a pout, checking Isabela out with wicked eyes. "A very _nice_ friend, and on my day off... meanie."

"I see you're a regular here," teases Isabela.

That gets a funny expression on the mother's face, but Zevran stalls her with a wink, allowing to reply, "Oh indeed. I'm here at least every other day, making sure the place is still running and in business."

With a giggle, the painter comes over to lean over the other girl's back. "Oh yes, our.. Zevran is a very dutiful person and always takes the best care of us." Giggling again, she winks. "I think the Kaede twins and Enaria are free if you're looking for company," she adds with wide eyes.

Zevran snickers, than gives Isabela a sly look. "What do you think: aasimar and tieflings twin brothers, a gorgeous little black and white kitsune lass... or all of the above?"

The sea wench laughs. "Surprise me." Weird; usually she'd have more of an opinion.

He glances at her curious, noting the little tells she has something she's distracted by something. Still, it's often better to ease her into such things. "Oh why not indulge? It is your 'welcome... back' party, is it not? Let us embrace the night's wonder in fullness!"

~*~

It's the early hours of the morning -- those twins have marvelous amounts of... stamina -- before Isabela makes her way out of the bedroom of the suite Zevran got them to the bath. Magical cleaing may leave them both technically cleaned up, but a quick wash with a cloth and warm water just _feels_ cleaner, and a soak in the tub afterward is the best way to pamper herself that Isabelca can think of. As Zevran notes her departure, he notes one other thing: on the nightstand, her bag is open, and an envelope is half-spilled onto the nightstand, as though carelessly deposited. That said, it certainly wasn't there when he went into the nightstand for the bottle of lube their last go-round; he hadn't seen her go into her bag, either, meaning either his employees are spying on her, or she just so 'happened' to leave something lying where it's likely to catch his attention.

"Well, since you asked so nice," Zevran murmurs, causing Enaria to glance over at him a touch sleepily. "It is nothing, my dear. Enjoy your rest," he says softly even as he rises from the bed to inspect the letter. She smiles at him in turn, and cuddles to her pillow with a muttered 'yes ma'am.' _Now, let's see about this letter..._

It's a short piece, only taking a few moments to skim. It's unsigned, and the salutation hails a name he's unfamiliar with, but the contents... it's clear why she brought this to him, if indirectly:

===================

We have reason to believe the woman we spoke of before is in Nyra, though she no longer answers to Naishe. If there is a child, I want it delivered unharmed. If there is more than one, bring the eldest; no others can be legitimate heirs. If there is no child, I want the woman. She may be harmed if she is still fit for her purpose.

====================

"Ah, well, fuck them," he says softly, replacing the letter as it was. Grabbing a pair of robes from the dresser before following her into the bath. "Mind if I join you ma'bela? after I wash up a bit, of course."

"By all means," she says, pleasantly, as she scoots over to make room.

He wipes himself down, just to convince his brain he's clean, then slips into the bath across from her. Smiling faintly, he comments, "there are various oils and scents in the small box above your head, should you like."

"Ah, lovely," she says, reaching for the box. A few moments later, she's adding lavender scent to the bath.

"So, what brings you back to dear old Nyra this time?" he asks as they soak.

"The usual -- business and so forth. Some debts needed paying." She seems relaxed, her eyes drifting closed.

"Perhaps you would like a hand with that, the paying of debts?" he asks idly.

"I wouldn't mind. It'll be dreadfully boring, though."

"No more boring than most jobs really," he replies with a languid wave. "Besides, that is what friends do, no?"

"Is that what we are?" Her tone is light, but the question gives him a glimpse into the mind of Isabela: she must be in a dark mood.

Another languid gesture, this time a shrug. "It is the name Hawke has taught me for the bond we share yes." He quirks a smile briefly. "Well, it is the name for the bond you will admit at least."

She laughs, something a bit manic in that laugh. "Are you still obsessed with that girl?"

"Love is the best obsession to have," he says lightly."It certainly beats drink, money or revenge. Besides, loving my flower and hawk has been the seed of every good in my life. Why should I not love them?"

"Everything ends," she says, quietly, slipping a bit further into the water.

"This is true- so should we not make the most of everything before that end? No point on dashing your mug to the ground, spilling sweet mead, just because it has a bottom. But enough of philosophy- you get cranky with such talk. To whom is a debt owed to you of late?"

"In truth, I'm not certain. The debt was incurred by an underling, in a group called the Red Daisies. I mean to find out who their leader is and shake him down for payment."

"They sound... fierce," he says with a smirk. "Any idea where they hang about, or should I ask around? I have actual contacts these days," he says with amusement. "Why my reach extends from the hovels of Crafting, to the rank and file and even officers of the law, to temple and even the Lantern it self! Even the business world is known to me," he boosts teasingly.

She chuckles, straightening a bit to bring her chin back out of the water. "Look at you. Practically a spymaster. Alright, by all means." She pauses, then adds, "Use all your little birdies but one."

"Still hiding, Isabela?" he asks, tone soft and kind.

"Hiding? I'm the one out seeing the world while you play housewife." For some reason, that causes the half-drow to tilt his head back and laugh uproariously. She scowls at him, looking away, a touch of hurt in her eyes.

"Madame, perhaps," he manages after a moment. "But of a house of ill-repute," he finishes. He gesture around them. "I did mention the new owner is a wonder, did I not?"

Understanding blooms across her face, and she laughs. "Of course. How could I forget -- there's nobody you admire more than yourself."

"Perhaps, perhaps," he says easily. "But yes, I suppose I have become... less dark, if you will, but I do not forget what I am. I have made a life here, and it is a good one. Perhaps I do not see as much of the world, but I like to think I enjoy the patch I know."

"And when it ends?" she asks, quietly, not looking back toward him yet. "What then? Will you be just as happy a widow as you are a madam?"

"Of course not," he says just as quietly. "But I would rather grieve with years of memories, than grieve without ever knowing what might have been."

"Some few years now. A lifetime later. I'll take my chances on the world."

Zevran sighs. "That is your choice, ma'bela," he says gently. "I will still tweak you on it from time to time, of course, but it is your choice."

"You know me. I look out for Isabela. The rest is what it is."

"There is little wrong with that," he replies. "I disagree with how that might be done better, but I am not you."

She sighs. "I'll allow that maybe, if it's the right person, love would be worth it." That's a first. "But next time you decide to throw away your heart, maybe waste it on someone who isn't in a hurry to abandon you."

Zevran gives her a hard look, the playful look gone. "She would never do so. She did not abandon us. She died to save us all. As point of fact, given you were here at the time, she died for you as well. That is not abandonment. And she came back. She walked away from peace, from her sister and mother, for us. That is not abandonment."

"Dead is dead." She says, flatly, matching the hardness in his gaze. "Maybe, if you're lucky enough to be Hawke, you get one take-back. The next time? She'll be gone."

"Then so be it. If she dies, then it will be to have done something worth our pain. I trust her to make that choice, to not break faith with us. And, perhaps, my being there will prevent her from having to make that choice in the first place."

"Worth your pain? You value yourself too little if you think Anders, think that damned gem, were worth your pain." Her voice is harsh, and there's a stormcloud in her eyes, the wine-dark sea of her irises tempest-tossed.

"She has learned from that," he says softly. "She made a poor choice out of pain, one she would not make again. We are all flawed, ma'bela. But she learns."

"Three times," she rasps, finally looking away. "Three times in as many moons. She can't be trusted."

"She can hardly be blamed for the gem, anyone of us save perhaps the dwarf would have fallen prey to that things's fell magics," he protests. "And as for the others...at least when she leaves, it is to save what she loves, instead of abandoning it." His voice is a little bitter, a little cutting then. He hisses, then adds, "that was... cruel, I am sorry."

Isabela stands, then, the water pouring down her naked body in a sheet. "No you're not," she says, with a small, false laugh, as though she's kidding. "You always say what you mean."

"I did not say I did not mean it, just that I am sorry," he says softly. "I would never try to chain you or any other, even myself, ma'bela, but that does not mean it does not hurt when you leave in the middle of the night for months on end."

For once, Isabela is silent; she stares at him for a moment, mouth slightly agape with surprise. _Hurt? Zevran? I thought of all people, he'd understand this urge I have, this wanderlust. The need to get away and be free._

"It is not the leaving that wounds. It is that you do not seem to care you've left. That you are leaving us," he explains, still soft, still studying the water. "Aveline needs her own space, her privacy. I cannot tolerate even the mutual chains of marriage or cohabitation. Merrill needs her time with her spirits. She-- none of us would begrudge you your wanderings. We... I simply wish you did not... flee us like an unpaid bar tab." Annoying, the results of a good time, but ultimately trivial.

She is quiet for a moment, closing her mouth. Finally, when she speaks, her tone is soft, with none of the usual swagger in it. "My mother was like the sea. She was always changing, always pulled by some distant call. I guess I'm the same way: if I'm not myself, if I don't do as I please, I'm nothing."

"And that should not be changed," he say gently, finally pulling gaze from the water to look at her. "Question is, are you doing what pleases you or are you letting fear steer your mast?" He shrugs. "I cannot find that answer for you, that is for you to decide. I will listen should you wish to speak, I will help you get paid for your debts, I will welcome you to my bed. I merely ask that you decide where your heart leads and stay the course."

_He has a point. This game is childish. I should either stay with her or leave her, not this... limbo._ She nods, stretching with a small yawn. "On that note, who wants breakfast?"

His gaze drifts lower and he smirks. "Were you offering or asking for something to be sent up?" he asks with a sly grin.

"One, then the other, I think," she purrs.

"So you like my new toy then?' he says with a grin, clicking the tongue stud against his teeth gently. "Did I mention it has a charm to allow it to heat or cool? And buzz?" It's even set so he can only feel a slight echo of the sensations, because a buzzing tongue is not nearly as pleasant as one might think it to be. "Lux recommended it, from a place called Gilded Dragon," he adds, referring to the tiefling sibling. He rises to his feet, adding, "there's a breakfast buffet downstairs that's simple but quality. And, best of all, the dress code is very... flexible."

"Perfect."

~*~

This was too much. This was too damn much.

Marian had spent the entire day bouncing from home to home, paying social calls, talking people into the basic idea that human beings need health care and therefore clinics are good for the city (no real luck there), smiling until her cheeks ached, and drinking more tea than she ever wanted to drink in her life. Worse, this was day four of this routine: socializing, flitting around, wearing dresses under her armor, occasionally showing off a spell or two, and generally becoming a celebrity. She had spent precious little time with Merrill, barely saw Varric, and even Rosemary was whining at her and sending passive-aggressive little notes about how she'd love to be included in Marian's life again. And now, of all things, Isabela was going to be on her case? Isa-fucking-bela?!

"No. I'm sorry, but no. I can't even do this right now."

Marian doesn't realize how loud she's being; they're in the kitchen, supposedly making tea, while Varric sits in his office, just down the hall. He can hear every word of that sentence, while he hasn't heard the ones prior. "Hawke, if you've forgotten how to make tea, then we're going to have to break down and finally hire a housekeeper because Wynne would sniff-glare us to death if we go back to living on tavern food," he says, as he reaches the doorway to the kitchen. Spotting Isabela, he nods, tossing off a, "hey pirate girl."

Marian turns away from Isabela then, and in so doing, gives Varric a glimpse of her face: frozen tears on her cheeks, ashy complexion.

Isabela looks toward the little window, uncomfortably. "I'll just take my leave."

"Stay," the dwarf says firmly. "I insist. Hawke... what's going on?"

"Isabela's usual bullshit," she says, bitterly. "She's outdone herself this time."

"I meant what I said," replies Isabela, her tone abnormally soft.

"No you didn't. You'll be back next year like nothing ever happened. You can't be honest about your feelings to save your life, and everyone here knows it."

Varric slides over to slip arm around Hawke's waist, glad as ever that he's very tall for a dwarf and that Hawke's no giantess of a half-elf. "Alright, how about we start from the beginning? Tiny dwarf legs, hard for me to catch up."

"I was trying to break up with Hawke," says Isabela, a touch of bitterness in her voice. "Apparently that has to be a group decision."

"Break-up break-up or just... leaving again for now break-up?" he asks slowly, wanting to be clear.

"Break-up," says Isabela, even as Marian talks over her: "For now, of course."

"Okaaay... well, she is allowed to break up with you if she wants, though it's traditional to give her an explanation and maybe a chance to fix things first," Varric says slowly, suddenly wishing he able to summon Zevran.

"If you do this," Marian replies, her tone dark. "That's it. No more chances. No more fucking. Is that really what you want?" Isabela stares out the window, silent. After a moment, Marian gives a dark laugh. "That's what I thought. Fuck you."

_Maybe I should... just... no, show some stone, Varric._ "So... what brought this all on anyway?" There's an awkward pause; Marian certainly doesn't know, and Isabela isn't sharing.

"You know what?" says Isabela, suddenly. "I don't need this. I don't need you and your stupid human deathwish anyway. Nyra is an overrated city and you're an overrated lover. Have a good life -- all, what, five years of it?" Isabela turns to storm off, heading for the front door.

"No, really, what the fuck is going on?" Varric asks plaintively. Is he silenced? Fuck and people wonder why he never dates or anything.

Marian shakes her head, watching Isabela leave. "[I don't know. She never fucking talks to me anymore.]" The switch to Dwarven isn't merely automatic; she's done talking to Isabela, and if she has to switch languages to make that happen so be it.

"Well... let her go pickle her brain and figure herself out, I guess," he finally says in the same language, despite the wench being well gone. "Girl clearly has some real issues going on in her life." He glances at her then. "You want some help going over your correspondences?"

_Aw fuck me, I have mail._ "Yeah," she says tiredly. She rubs at her head, feeling the twinges of a headache coming on. "Let's do that."

~*~

There are, at this point, in Nyra, at least three independent agents who have put word out that they will pay handsomely for any reports of slavers to be brought directly to them. Typically, slavers work in secret, as what they do is very against the law. They are careful not to be caught, and they are intelligent enough to leave very few clues as to what they are doing. Therefore, they rarely get a chance to pay out, but are grateful when they do.

This evening, all three of them get word at nearly the same time. This incident was anything but quiet; a woman was dragged out of a bar in chains, hollering curses in some foreign language, drunken enough not to be able to defend herself well. She'd been hit four times before they reached the street, where they muffled her shouts with a sack and stuffed her into a carriage.

Hawke grabs her staff before Varric's informant gets more than a few sentences into his tale. She throws out an offhand suggestion to go for Avaline next; Zevran, she knows, will have heard as well. This was Coalside, near enough to his place of business that she might miss out on the fun if she doesn't hurry.

Zevran is indeed already waiting for Hawke and Varric when they arrive, a cold look on his face. And... also a slightly worried one, though it's strangely directed at the other person there: Merrill. Right, they had been planning on spending the night out, must have been already been together when the message came. The two elven beings have already taken out two of the Daisies' look-outs and Merrill is studying one of them curiously. She's often a bit, well, fey, but her expression tonight is particularly off.

But things are moving rapidly and that has to wait. "I've counted at least a dozen, possibly more, still inside. They're almost ready to flee the city. We have at most ten minutes before they're heading for the gate," Zevran says rapidly. "We cannot wait for more help, we must save her now!"

"Got it." Hawke strides forward, already summoning the winds of winter from the cold place inside her. _Damn, it'll be good to let loose._

The Red Daisies were perhaps not the most subtle or discreet of gangs, but they actually had some power to them. Of the twenty members, four of them were fair casters. Not on Merrill's level now, but at least as good as her during their Underdark trip. But it's the trio of bladedancers, each carrying a pair of fiery scimitars, that poses the greatest threat. While Hawke and Varric are entirely absorbed in dealing with them, and Merrill and Bob tied up with the casters, Zevran is hard pressed to deal with the other dozen or so admittedly far less skilled members.

Even worse, the Daisies are evidently poor losers, as the last caster standing casts his last spell not at Merrill, but at the bound and gagged Isabela. A jagged shard of lightning slams into the pirate captain, blasting her out of the chair she as bound to and setting her clothes alight even as her body shudders and spasms wildly.

Hawke's feet are moving before her brain can catch up. She dives at Isabela, tearing off her cloak to smother the flames, before she can so much as think _serves her right_ \-- not a thought she's proud of, but a thought that occurs to her briefly, before she has the decency to be ashamed of herself.

Doubly so when she realizes Isabela's not breathing.

"Merrill!" she shouts, already moving into action. She'd read once in a book about how to treat electrical damage that causes disruption of biological systems; she'd never been trained, never had any reason to be with potions and casters on hand, but she regrets it every time someone goes down. She presses her palms together and throws her weight onto Isabela's chest, swearing under her breath in catfolk, cajoling Isabela to "breathe, dammit, you stupid bitch, live," as she feels the ribcage crack _Astea, I hope I'm doing this right_ as she refuses to give up. Refuses to even consider it.

There's a pause, as Merrill continues... did she learn to read minds from Wynne? Because she really looks like she's peering through that caster's eyes, not in them. It takes another shout, this time from a closer Zevran, to get her attention. "Isabela is hurt!" he yells even as he stabs a Daisy through the base of his jaw with the broken arm of another Daisy (anything is a weapon after all). Evidently done now that she's distracted, Merrill almost absently gestures at the caster, who starts to convulse badly enough his bones start to crack.

Merrill glances around, her gaze falling on Marian desperately attempting to keep the pirate wench alive. She seems to puzzle through it a moment, then moves quickly to attend them. A pause, then she mutters something under her breath. It doesn't sound like her normal Sylvian, instead something... wetter. Regardless, a bloom of healing energy rushes into the dying woman, healing the worse of the burn and allowing her to breath normally again.

Isabela coughs, rolling onto her side, and Hawke sits back on her heels, wiping frozen sweat off her brow. "Vangal help me, if that guy's not dead yet--" She looks around, ready to jump back into the fray, only to find... nothing to do. Zevran's got the last of the mooks, and the caster is... ouch. Good. Fuck him.

A moment later, she realizes she doesn't want to be squatting here, having just saved Isabela's life, when the wench gets enough awareness to realize who saved her. She nods to Merrill, stepping back with a gesture for her to take her place, and heads for Zevran without so much as a backwards glance. Let Isabela think it was Merrill's hands keeping her alive. Hawke doesn't want her gratitude anyway.

Merrill stares down at Isabela, eyes boring into the other woman's for a very long, awkward moment. "Oh. Hello Isabela, it's nice to see you again, though this is not the best of times to see you given you almost died but didn't because the one I love saved you. Her actions are very complex and fascinating, aren't they?" she says suddenly, then turns around to go over and study the dead bodies curiously.

Zevran is busy testing his leg, which had been hit rather solidly with someone's warhammer. Who the fuck uses a warhammer, really? He's glancing over at Isabela, but giving she's moving is less worried than he would have been. And fuck, yeah, that's broken. Ow.

Hawke pauses in her walk. _Merrill sounds... a little off today_ , she thinks, but winces as she gets to 'the one I love'. _Isabela won't like that._ "How's your day going," she asks Zevran, her voice lacking most of the playfulness she's used to.

Isabela starts to answer Merrill, but throws up instead. Lovely.

Varric, having slowly been draw out of the building to keep the range, is taking a quick look around to make sure they hadn't missed anyone. Zevran glances at Marian with a look of pain. "I have been better," he says tightly. "Is she okay?" he asks then, seeing Isabela vomit. Why is Merrill ignoring her? Or him, for that matter. "Is... is Merrill alright?" he asks. She had been acting strange since they met up a half-hour ago, even for her. "She is... not herself today, did something happen this morning?"

"I wasn't home," Hawke says, her tone clipped, her voice tight. "Woke up late. Leg." She squats, examining his leg to see how bad the break is, if she can splint it or... or...

It's not compound thankfully, and it's not really broken but rather cracked. Still, it's his femur, which is a very large bone. So a little out of Hawke's comfort range, first aid wise. "Please be gentle," he tries to joke, starting at Merrill as she squats to study one of the kidnappers that Hawke partially froze.

"Not really feeling gentle today. Merrill, can you come splint his leg?" She sounds... tired, mostly. She glances at Isabela, startled to realize she's alone. Where did Me-- why is she... what?

Isabela pushes herself up onto all fours, mostly to get away from the smell of being sick. She doesn't seem to notice the end of her loose hair dipping slightly into the puddle as she stumbles to her feet, struggles to stay upright, clutches her stomach.

"Hmm? Oh, Marian, of course," the elf says, pulling herself away from her current study to come over to Zevran. "Hello again Zevran," she says, her tone warm and bubbly, but a little flat. "Oh, that's not something I should allow," she continues, pace picking up. She quickly reaches for him and mutters again in that strange language, which causes the bone to snap back into place and fuse together.

Zevran hisses at the strange but not really painful sensation, most of his attention on Isabela. "Did... is 'bela okay?" he asks tightly, getting a series of blinks, then a slow nod from Merrill.

"She will survive, yes."

"She poisoned?" asks Hawke, her tone still flat.

"Yes," Merrill comments without looking Isabela. "She has been consuming vast amounts of poison, though she choose to do so of her own accord," she explains.

Zevran winces a little at the thought of being beaten as she was while drunk, then frowns. Hawke is acting rather strange as well, he notes. "Perhaps she could use a hand to stand? And... a little help cleaning up?"

Hawke lets out a small growl of frustration. _Trust her to be so.. so stupid!_ she scolds herself, burying the small seed of worry deep within. "Merrill, take care of Isabela. Varric, I'm bringing Zevran home, make sure Merrill gets home okay." _There, problem solved, they can all look after each other._

Merrill turns her gaze towards Hawke, studying her for a moment. "Why do you not wish to be around her? Is she not also one of your loved ones?" she asks curiously.

Zevran raises an eyebrow. _That is... rather more direct than my bon fleur is wont to speak, but perhaps she is just as tired of the constant back and forth from the two ladies? I had not expected such from her but..._ This does suggest his worry that the two had argued is more valid than he'd hoped.

"Isabela is..." She pauses, then decides to speak in Dwarven: "[Not Clan]." All of them know that last word, and enough of them probably know the simple negation form she uses here by now just from proximity to Varric that the meaning is clear. Speaking of, Varric slips into the warehouse just in time to hear that little comment.

Isabela puts up her middle finger, though it almost unbalances her to do so. "Who needs-" she starts, before hiccoughing.

"[Understood. She is healed enough to survive. I will assist you and Zevran home and continue his recovery]," Merrill says easily, happy smile in place.

"...the fuck is wrong with today?" Varric mutters to himself. Everyone's lost their shit and acting real freaky. Louder, he says, "look I'll see to Flirts, you three... get some rest or something."

Hawke stares at Merrill. "You... learned Dwarven?" she says, sounding... hesitant. _It's Merrill. Of course she just, woke up one day and learned Dwarven. Still, Varric has a point._

A pause as Merrill seems to consider it. "Magic?" she finally offers with a shrug. "Zevran is still sore, we should get him to bed. And then get naked?"

Marian stares at Merrill dumbly. _She's blunt, but usually not that blunt. And since when does killing slavers turn her on?_ "You know what?" she says, a moment later. "Let's do that. Let's go to your house and get naked. Varric can come too. We'll drop off Zevran and Isabela at his place on the way." Hawke must be out of her damn mind to invite Varric along for sex -- unless, she's trying to imply something other than sex is about to happen.

Varric gives her an almost horrified look, then narrows his gaze. "[You... feeling okay there, Hawke?]" he asks carefully in Dwarven.

Merrill smiles happily. "That sounds wonderful, Hawke. Zevran and I were about to have sex when we had to stop."

_Definitely not alright._ "Yes, of course. This is totally normal, right Merrill? Nothing weird going on here." Hawke's voice sounds strained, a touch.

Merrill pauses a moment, meeting Hawke's eyes for a moment. At the same time, she feels a strange brush against her mind, as if she'd just shrugged off a spell. "Well, all the dead people around are kind of weird," she replies after just a second too much time. "And Isabela is here, which doesn't happen often." Zevran frowns, testing his leg to make sure he can move quickly.

"That's fair. Which is why I suggested heading to Wynne's."

Isabela manages to get her hiccups under control, and blurts out, "I see. You want to get rid of me."

"You're the one who--" snaps Marian, before she cuts herself off. "Fine. You know what? Let's _all_ go to Wynne's."

Merrill pauses. "I... would prefer to go back to Zevran's," she says carefully. "His place is very nice. I liked the music and the dancing."

"I thank you for the compliment," Zevran says with a still somewhat pained smile. "Did you have favorite?"

Again, a pause as the elf thinks. "I liked the one with the song with the whistle noises. About the dancing girls," she offers, voice a touch uncertain. "It was... cheerful."

_Merrill normally enjoys drums the most because they're the best to dance to_ , Hawke notes. "Zevran doesn't have room for wounded," says Marian. "And you wont' get much sex without him or me. Let's go."

Merrill frowns slightly, eyes roving about. Finally she sighs. "This one has been noticed already, it has. This one is dismayed at its carelessness. Or perhaps is impressed by the level of observation by this one's friend." She- whoever she is- straightens, her body language shifting to... to someone else's. Zevran goes very still save for his hands tightening into fists.

Hawke steps forward, staff at the ready. "Are you going to come to Wynne's quietly?" she asks, her voice soft, but her tone dangerous.

Merrill blinks- or rather, winks both eyes a beat after the other, twice. "This one was avoiding the mentor of this one's friend as she is known to be skilled at detecting irregularities in both people and in mental status. As this one is already detected, avoidance is unneeded." She smiles, the gestures a little uneven. "In fact, it is now undesired, as this one would enjoy speaking with the mentor of this one's friend as she is noted to be very learned."

Voice very low, Varric says to Zevran and Hawke, "She- it- keeps saying 'this one's friend,' does it mean Merrill is its friend?"

"Just like Justice," replies Hawke, softly. "Zevran. Get Isabela. Wynne's or your place, your pick."

"...understood," he says after a moment, eyes hard on 'Merrill's.' "Look after notre fleur stupide, please," he adds in a murmur.

"Alright, uh, that one, lets get going," Varric says warily.

Merrill nods agreeably, her gait awkward and strange as she approaches them. Almost as if she keeps starting to use an extra leg or something and then recalling she only has the two. "This one is M̱a̘̞̫͜n̟͞t͇̯͠i̵̤̠̰͇̫̖p̪̝̪̗͚o̬̭̕ͅͅs҉s̨͇̹̯̮̮i̡͈̺̰̦͇̙l̲͙̖̭̺͟i̟̩̼̰͉͠m̯̩̮o̝̹e̱͍̲̠̥̗̮li̷͍̖s," it says politely. "This one's friend called it... Moe," it adds after a moment, voice almost fond.

"....Right. Moe. Any chance you can let Merrill out for a bit?"

Moe blinks a few times. "This one is here. The friend of this one is in this one's form." A pause. "In this one's home... elsewhere. Very elsewhere." Another pause. "She is a guest."

Varric coughs a little. "So that's Merrill's body but she's... not there. She's in _your_ body."

Moe nods, a pleased look on its -- on _Merrill's_ \-- face. "Yes, the stair-father of this one's friend understands well."

"Stair-father?" echoes Hawke numbly, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. "No, nevermind that. What are you, exactly?"

Moe pauses a moment. "Step-father?" it offers, then continues. "Those of this shard of existence call this one's kind a yithian."

_So not an elf then._ "Okay. let's... let's get going."

"Very well, this one is pleased to see more of the city of this one's friend. And more of the [Clan] of this one's friend," Moe says in an agreeable tone. His dwarven accent is perfect -- and doubly creepy coming from Merrill's lips.

"Well, this is all kinds of... weird," Varric says voce sotto.

~*~

A hundred feet from the warehouse, Zevran finally looses his patience and slips an arm around Isabela's shoulder to help her along. "Well, I've seen better methods of getting a debt paid. Though I will admit it was fast."

"Fuck you," Isabela slurs, moving faster now that she has his help. Up close, she's a wreck. She smells of rum as if someone's dumped a bucket of it over her head, and her eyes don't want to focus on much of anything. She stumbles and drags her feet, struggling to keep to a roughly straight line, and she wavers some even under his arm, as if he's all that's keeping her upright.

"In your condition? Hardly. I am curious, however, about why you decided that getting roaring, sticking, _blind_ drunk was the best idea given the matter that was hovering over your head at the time," he asks, his normal charm a bit... scant at the moment.

"Gods damned Hawke," she slurs. "Brings out the worst in Isabela every time."

"No, I think that's your mother," he says darkly.

"Same thing, isn't it? Wants me to be something 'm not, then leaves when I need 'er most."

"When has Hawke ever asked you, asked _anyone_ to be something they are not?" Zevran says shortly. "Do not blame her for your heart's yearnings."

"My heart." She makes a somewhat rude noise. "If I could I'd cut it out of me and be done with it."

"If you're that done with it, I'm sure there are many who would be happy to assist," he says dryly.

"I noticed."

"Maybe that's something you should work on," the merikos-elf suggests. "From one direction or the other."

"I've had enough of your advice for today. Look where the last bit led me."

"Do not blame me for picking the worst possible choice at each fork in your path, Isabela," he says, voice hard. "You are the one that choose to get drunk and stupid. Or say rather, stupid and then drunk and more stupid."

"And _you_ were the one putting ideas in my head about dumping Hawke. You could have guessed the consequences yourself, if you're so much smarter than I."

"Your actions are not my fault. This is your mistake, and you are the only one to blame for it. We are merely the ones that saved your life."

Isabela is silent for several paces before she sighs. "You're right. Of course you're right. You're always so damned right." She sounds resigned, more angry at herself than at him.

"I am glad you have finally see reason," he says, voice more gentle. "I suspect it is because even the gods are entranced by my tight bum and pretty eyes and, wishing to woo me, make my life a path of splendor and ease." Hey, he's making jokes again, even if they're a smidge more bitter than the norm.

She shakes her head. "I'd give you up for her if I had to. Is this what my mother felt? This need?"

"I cannot say of course, as I did not know her -- nor do I care to, save long enough to slap the shit out of her -- but... perhaps. Though I do not like to think of it as a need but a blessing, " he says softly, eyes gentle. Then he stiffens and speeds up. "Though at the moment, I am more worried about my other love."

~*~

The walk to Wynne's home is somber and tense. Moe's friendly enough, but Marian seems disinclined to try and make smalltalk. Today is... awful. Beyond awful. Losing Isabela hurts, despite her attempt to bury the mote of pain in her breast, and losing Merrill would be... unthinkable.

Moe spends the entire time asking Varric question after question: nothing important, nothing personal, just an endless request for any and all bit of trivia about Nyra and the nearby areas with little pattern to the flow. Eventually however, they finally arrive. Silence greets them at the door, but almost instantly starts silently menacing 'Merrill' even as she backs slowly away, not that Moe seems to care.

"And this is the home of the friend of this one?" it asks with avid interest.

"Yes. This is where Merrill lives. Wynne!" Hawke says the first two sentences in a normal volume and flat tone, but the third is louder, containing a twinge of hysteria.

"Coming," the magic teacher calls back, clearly detecting the concern in Hawke's voice. She enters the room a few seconds later and-- "Who are you?" she demands, voice hard and biting.

"This one is M̱a̘̞̫͜n̟͞t͇̯͠i̵̤̠̰͇̫̖p̪̝̪̗͚o̬̭̕ͅͅs҉s̨͇̹̯̮̮i̡͈̺̰̦͇̙l̲͙̖̭̺͟i̟̩̼̰͉͠m̯̩̮o̝̹e̱͍̲̠̥̗̮li̷͍̖s. The friend of this one, whom this one has traded shells with for the next [hadfl] [andasdfa], calls this one Moe," it answers politely. "This one is pleased to meet the mentor of this one's friend."

"Yeah. That." says Hawke. "She wasn't like this yesterday, pretty sure."

"No, she was fine this morning," Wynne says, eyes never leaving Merrill. "What do you do to her?"

"This one has not harmed this one's friend. This one proposed that mutual visitation might be enjoyed by both this one and this one's friend. An agreement was made and the exchange was made. This one is now observing and learning about this subsection of this plane," Moe says happily.

"She's having an extraplanar vacation I guess," Hawke adds, her voice edging further toward hysteria. "In the body of a yithian."

"Yithian... yithian... Inhabitants of an enclosed demiplane. A very old, very powerful race with nigh unmatched mastery over mental magics," she says slowly. "A very rigid caste system bound by a heavily regulated code of laws."

Moe claps softly. "Very good, mentor of this one's friend. Very good indeed! That is correct."

"Is she safe?" Hawke urges.

"The friend of this one is a guest of this one's bloodline-brood. Guests are to be well treated and are in no danger unless guest becomes danger. This one does not expect that eventuality. Upon completion of this one's agenda here, exchange will be undone," it assures her. "Choice will have been given to guest: to be secluded and returned unaltered or to be allowed to inspect and travel and have memory altered immediately prior to exchange end."

"What do you mean, memory alteration? And what's is that one's agenda?" Varric asks.

"Classified information removal primarily. And this one's agenda is to observe and quantify this subsection of current plane."

"How long do you think that will take?" asks Hawke. "Relative to this plane's methods of keeping time, please."

"This one is uncertain, but an estimation might be offered?" Moe replies politely.

"Yeah, that'd be swell, thanks," Varric answers wryly.

"Given the projected area, this one hopes to complete the required investigation in less than two solar revolutions. However, the frailness of this shell does pose more of a hinderance than expected, so greater risk might be required in order to maintain that schedule."

"Two. Years. At _least_ two years."

"That is correct, step-father of this one's friend."

"He's not her stepfather and also _what did you say_?!" Oddly enough, her voice is getting less hysterical; she's getting louder, sure, but she seems to have her fear more under control. "That's not acceptable."

"What is the correct word?" Moe asks intently, a frown forming.

"Describe the relationship you mean?" she asks, frowning slightly.

"The one most relevant between that one," Moe points at Varric, "to the friend of this one."

"Not helpful. Does she view him as a father or more of a best friend or what?" _Weird... In all these years, I rarely asked what my Clan think of each other,_ she notes. Recognizing that this path leads towards hysteria again, she shakes her head. "Wait, go back a few. Merrill agreed to leave me for two years? She knew how long it'd be ahead of time?"

"This one does not know," Moe says slowly, turning to face Varric. "Please explain the nature of the relationship possessed with the friend of this one."

"Father-electi. Usually people just say father in casual conversation," Varric snaps. "Now answer Hawke's question."

"This one is grateful for the clarification," Moe says, tipping forward slightly as if in a crude bow. "This one is uncertain if the friend of this one understand all of the details but agreement was given regardless."

"[So she left me, too.]" The thought is cruel enough to avoid saying in Common, though it's not like Elven is better. Hawke pinches the bridge of her nose. "Fine," she says in Common. "Let me show you where she sleeps. That, uh, shell you're wearing is going to need to rest soon."

"This one has removed that need," Moe replies blandly. "This one will explore the local environs during the non-solar illuminated period."

"Elf bodies require rest, even if your mind does not," Wynne says firmly. "You will.. damage your long term... effectiveness."

"Yes, this one has compensated for this. This one will return shortly after the illumination period begins." A pause. "This one is hoping assistance will be offered in exploring the subsection of this plane assigned to this one for inspection. Expected duration of inspection will be greatly increase without aid."

_Gods be damned. I'll drop by Aveline's in the morning._ "Okay, tell you what. Let me show you around the city for a while."

"The proposal from the love of the the friend of this one is acceptable to this one," Moe says with clear approval. "This one wishes to begin with an inspection of the area of highest population density."

Varric coughs a little. Yeah, that's... not foreboding at all...

"Yeah, let me show you around Coalside. You're going to love the catfolk village."


	3. "I can protect my own heart."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moe's visit continues.

Moe seems to be pleased with most of Coalside. The poor conditions, the filth and the three times they're accosted don't phase it at all. In fact, Moe takes advantage of the mugger to, as it explains later, scan the assailant's memories for additional data. It's really pleased with the crowded conditions of the catfolk tribes. The only time Moe seems displeased is when she tries to head into the sewers to 'look over the kobold and goblin tribes living down there.' Moe is... noticeably resistant to the idea, giving the entrance to the sewer what Hawke would judge to be a wary look.

Now, it's the crack of dawn. Why is someone at Avaline's door? They seem to be knocking rather insistently. She only just got to bed after her overnight shift as a guardswoman.

"Someone had best be-- Hawke? What's wrong?" Aveline says, body snapping to attention. She starts to say something else, then frowns, looking behind Hawke.

Merrill, it seems, is studying the flower bush near Aveline's gate and... eating some of the flowers.

"Hawke...?"

"This is Moe," Hawke says, quietly. "He's... arranged to borrow Merrill's body for a time. Would you mind--" here, she stifles a yawn behind her hand. "Sorry, would you mind showing him Nyra from a guard's perspective? I've been with him all night but I have a breakfast meeting and.."

"He... What? When did this happen?" Aveline demands, voice just as low. "What... is he? Wait, here," she adds, reaching out to grab Hawke's rest to infuse her with healing energy.

"Thanks," she says, relieved, as the fatigue melts away from her body. "Apparently she agreed to some kind of cultural exchange. I guess she's borrowing his body, touring his home plane. Oh, and Isabela dumped me."

"Ciren's britches," Aveline swears, using her hold on Hawke to pull her in for a hug. "Take a moment, amata," she whispers. "I am here for you."

Hawke clings to Aveline, breathing in her warm, comforting scent. The nagging pain in her chest blooms into heartache, then, after a few minutes, subsides into a dull roar. "Thank you," she whispers. "It's been a long day."

"Do you want me to call out?" she offers gently. "How long is this... exchange going to be happening?"

"Two--" She chokes off. "I hope to end it early, put it that way."

_Two what? Months? Years? **More**?_ "What... what is he? He's not evil. Or at least, he's not detecting as evil."

"Good to know. This is.... you remember how Merrill has strange friends?"

"It's... come up, yes. A few times," she says wryly. "Is that... one of her spirits or something.. else?"

"Else, I think. Her spirits live here in Nyra. Wynne recognized him, he's... from another plane, she said, but I didn't get much more out of her than that."

"Wonderful. Alright, what does he-- what does this Moe want?" she asks, rubbing Marian's back soothingly.

"I don't know. He seems focused on high population areas."

"That... sounds like an saboteur," she says, eyes hard as she watches Moe move over to inspect the bird house. "Has he looked at anything else? Defense points, the walls, anything like that?"

"Not really. He refused to go in the sewers -- I've been showing him the worst of Nyra all night, but he just seems pleased."

"Lower Coalside and the sewers are that alright," she murmurs. "Alright, I'll... try to distract him." Guess she'll be using a few doses of healing on herself as well. "Is.. is Merrill... in there or...?"

She shakes her head. "In his body, on his home plane, getting the same sort of tour from his relatives. Thanks again, Aveline. I'm counting on you."

"Which means... if its a soul swap, which is sounds like... that means if... Merrill's body is destroyed, Moe's soul is sent on, but Merrill would be stuck...wherever she is," Aveline says carefully. "But doing it across dimensions... that's normally impossible. Ummm. But that also means they can't... do too much to Merrill or they'll damage Moe's body." She shakes her head, wincing. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... anyway, do you need me to do anything specific?"

She winces. "I don't trust whatever his mission is. If you can find out, I'd appreciate it, but don't get into any trouble, okay? He was... He can use some of her spells, and he doesn't see life the same way she does."

"Neither do I. And... that's worrying to hear," Aveline murmurs, then stiffens.

"Please explain to this one the purpose of this physical contract."

Hawke releases Aveline. "It is a greeting among beings with our relationship status," she says, formally. "Moe, this is Avaline, the Guard Captain I told you about."

Moe's eyes widen and it tilts forward, arms spreading a little. "This one greets Law Enforcer. This one is pleased to have association with Law Enforcer of high rank."

Aveline glances at Hawke as she steps back. "You seem to hold my position in high regard," she observes.

"Without adherence to Law, a Society crumbles. Without a Society, Duty cannot be fulfilled. If Duty is failed, all shall perish before Egress can be realized," Moe intones as if uttering holy scripture.

"...yeah, so I'm sure you two will get along great. Moe, I'll see you later tonight? I have some things to get done, but Aveline will look after you for the time being."

"This one is pleased to be in the care of Law Enforcer," Moe says with a sharp nod.

_You owe me Hawke..._ "Right. Well. I need to ready myself for duty so... Moe, you can... Explore my backyard until I'm ready. Just don't break anything."

"Understood, Law Enforcer."

~*~

_What have you done, Isabela?_

She groans as she opens her eyes, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling -- and promptly squeezes them shut. The pain in her head is almost blinding; Definitely too much to drink.

_You're vulnerable, 'bela. No sudden moves, keep quiet. Get out, get back to the ship, sleep it off there._

_Hawke._

She forces her eyes open again, letting the pain wash over her, noticing the vomit taste in her mouth. _Stupid girl. She won't take you back; she said so. Wherever you are, it's time to flee._

From across the room, a very soft voice- young, female, sight kender accent- whispers, "there's water in a cup next to you, to the left, steeped with herbs for your head. I'm to let Madame Zevy know you're up." Footsteps then, telling of a light build on bare or soft-slippered feet, and finally a door opening and closing as softly as possible.

_Water. Of course. It always comes back to water, doesn't it, Isabela?_ She knows better. She reaches for the cup, her hand trembling slightly as she does. But somehow, it feels like her life has been inexorably leading to this moment, ever since she turned 18. Since she was born. Since her mother's sealskin was stolen.

She's managed to swallow, sip by sip, perhaps a third of the glass before 'Madame Zevy' arrives. "I see you're suffering the delights of Ciren's Jape," he comments, though he's kind enough to keep his voice low and smooth.

"That's one way to put it." Her voice is hoarse as she puts the glass back down, settles into the pillow. _Zevran will look after me. This is safe._

"Oh? Do you prefer the phrase Sirena's Rebuke then?" he teases, using the other, less playful expression for a hangover. He lets her settle a moment before, "I am afraid I will be off soon. Things... are happening rather apace and my help may be needed more direly elsewhere. You can stay here until you are recovered, however, little Michie is practicing her reading outside the room if you have need of anything my Voice can provide."

"Too busy for me?" she jokes, before her brain catches up. "Wait. What's going on? Last night..."

"I was only able to get this second hand from Wynne, but it seems... it seems ma petite fleur perdue has been... replaced with some kind of alien mind-mage," he says, voice tight and pained. "It-- Moe-- is... cooperative so far, but we are attempting to figure out how to reverse things."

_Fuck._ "Can you..." She winces. "If you can get me one of those panaceas, I'll be ready to fight in ten."

Zevran studies her for a moment, then sags a little. "I have a healer on hand who has a spell or two that can cure what ails you," he says gratefully before quickly leaving the room.

He returns shortly with a wizened old dwarf woman, who grumps a bit but pokes her with a few prayers to Valshathe of all deities. She gives Isabela a whack on the head with a cane once she's better, muttering about stupid girls and vile poisons. Zevran looks amused by the whole affair, though his eyes never lose that worried shadow in them.

_Much better. Now you can get out of here, get back to your airship, and get on your way._ Isabela ignores the cynical little voice in her mind. _This is Zevran. If anyone deserves my help, it's him._ "Thanks," she says, rubbing at the spot she's been bonked again. "I prefer being able to stand upright."

"It opens up more possibilities at least," he says somewhat absently. "Are you well to ready yourself? I would like to be off." A pause. "And thank you, ma'bela."

"You know you have my daggers anytime." She tries to make it sound sexual, but it's not her best work. She glances down at the clothes she slept in -- good enough, she decides, grabbing for her pack.

"If we are lucky, we shall not need them. It might be Merrill there now, but it is still her body and... I hope to have her in it again," he says with a wan smile. "Moe is currently in the care of the good Captain, so the plan is to head back to Wynne's to see if there is anything new discovered by this... yithian being, then met them both at at Varric's this afternoon. Evidently the being does not need sleep, even... in its current condition, so we are having to form shifts. Hawke spent the night giving a tour of Coalside and is now trying to met with nobles without sleep. Aveline is doing the same now, and will need to work this afternoon, so it was to be my, now our, turn then."

Her face twitches when he says Hawke, but she doesn't comment. "The things you folks get up to," she wonders, sliding daggers into hidden sheaths.

"It is not a life without excitement, no," he admits as they head out.

~*~

Wynne is, unfortunately not able to give them much news. While she knows a modest smattering of facts about the yithian race and culture, not much of it is substantiated or relevant to their current concerns.

The yithian are a very rigid culture, wherein strict obedience to an absolute caste system is one of the guiding tenets of their race. They have a very complex legal system, with tens of thousands of laws, rules and policies enforced by unceasing oversight of nearly every fact of life and very harsh punishments. They evidently do this 'cultural exchange' thing fairly often, though the rarity of their contact with the Material Plane keeps them obscure. They consider one's given word to be as binding as a Geas and will stop at nothing to destroy an oathbreaker. She also mentions that they rarely, if ever, interfere in a noticeable way with civilizations, instead simply exploring and classifying an area almost to the point that they end up with a firmer idea of population numbers and conditions than the local governments.

Having gotten everything they can, the pair make their way slowly to Varric's.

~*~

"So... about last night," Isabela starts, slowly. "I imagine Hawke's still not keen on running into me?"

"She... between her new duties as a Light and all that entails, combined with this... Moe issue, she is... so very overwhelmed. She cannot face the loss of one she loves on top of all that, so.... yes, I suspect she would very much like to avoid seeing you right now," he agrees carefully.

"If she ever loved me, I threw that away years ago." says Isabela, quietly. "If we run into her, I'll just sneak off somewhere."

"If she did not love you still, her heart would be breaking so at the thought of you leaving her." He reaches over to her, gently squeezing her wrist before letting go.

"She didn't sound heartbroken," Isabela points out. "More like, done with my shit."

Zevran smiles sadly. "Surely you have seen Hawke go cold to deal with stress before? At least in combat? She cannot handle your loss and, to be frank, your bullshit, at this time so she is trying to freeze that part of herself so she can function."

Isabela chews on that for a few moments before saying, "I hope I didn't upset you with my drunken rambles."

"I have thick skin and you did not say all that much. Well, not that much in an understandable fashion, at least," he assures her.

_Yeah, but did I say anything damaging to Isabela?_ She gives a hollow laugh. "Yeah. Best forgotten anyway. Who knows what kind of crazy things you say when drunk?"

"I never suggested you forget what your unguarded tongue revealed," he counters. "Truth be told, where things less... hectic, I would lock you both in a room with naught but spiced wine and fresh fruit for a few days."

"Ouch," she teases. "First time I've heard my company's better drunk."

"Just less prone to lying, especially to yourself," he says kindly.

"I'm glad it was you, then. You already know everything there is to know about poor Isabela." Her tone isn't nearly as kind toward herself as his was.

"I know her friend -- her amazing, sexy, and very nicely equipped friend -- does not approve of her putting herself down," he comments. "You are more than you judge yourself, ma'bela."

"Am I?" she asks, glancing at him sideways. "I've gotten to know Isabela pretty well over the past ten years."

"Perhaps you have, but you are always a very harsh judge of what you have found. If you were as... careless as you profess yourself to be, you would not be so pained right now, I would think."

Isabela sighs. "This is the only thing love has to offer me: heartbreak, pain, and driving a wedge between me and the people I'd... rather hang onto."

"It is denying that love doing all that, no? If you just... accepted that you care for... people, what would be the issue then?"

"People leave. People die." She shrugs. "Do you know, you're the only living person I've told about my mother?"

"I... suspected as much, though I'd hoped you'd found someone to confide in since," the merikos admits.

"The way I see it, that woman you met died the night we spent together. I'm Isabela now, have been for a long time. What's the sense of dwelling?"

_The night we spent together_ , Zevran thinks. _Not... exactly how he would describe that night, given the normal meaning of that phrase._ "I... am unfond of remembering the life I lived before a panicked half-elf and a cynically protective dwarf found me, shackled and whipped bloody, in a shack. But what was done then, what I did and what was done to me, did happen. It does affect me. Trying to ignore that is no different than turning your back on a foe because his face offends you."

"An apt analogy. Often I think the ghost of that woman is my biggest enemy." She sighs, looking to the sky for a few paces. "What Luis did to me, it ruined me for marriage. For relationships. I can't get past the idea that Hawke will be no better."

Zevran nods slowly. "I will admit I... watched her for some time, waiting for her to... imply, or even outright demand, that I repay her for my freedom. For the life she's helped me build. And yet... the closest she has ever come is asking me to stand with her on her various adventures. And even then, she has shared the danger and reward in equal measure each time."

"Every time she asks me to stay, I chafe. I can't be some housewife, stuck in one city forever. And she can't watch me go over and over."

Zevran gives her a look. "She would not care if you left, provided she knew you loved her and were planning to return. She has never, not once, asked me to stop being a slut, nor has she expected me to be at her beck-and-call. The closest she has come to asking me to change is suggesting I... find a new source of income, as opposed to merely choosing my own clients."

"She had a problem with the killing?" the sky pirate asks, knowingly.

"She had a problem with me breaking down and going almost catatonic when I came close reverting to... old conditioning and nearly killed a child," he says, his tone _strictly_ casual.

_Well now you've stepped in it, Isabela._ "I didn't mean to--" she begins, before breaking off with a bitter laugh. "Yup, pretty much just the worst at talking to people this week."

"You did not know," the half-drow says kindly. "It was... unpleasant, yes. But regardless, that was the only time I can recall that she attempted to change part of whom I am. And given the circumstances, one could hardly blame her, no?"

"How do you put up with her wanting to save everyone all the time? I figure if I did open up, she'd just make those sad eyes at me." She shudders.

Zevran pauses outside Varric's door. "Why is what she does a bad thing?" He smirks then, "and I rather like her eyes, even the sad ones. Makes me want to kiss the attendant pout away."

"I decided years ago I don't want anyone's pity." She shakes her head. "Yours was a gift -- anyone else would be overkill."

"Then tell her that. She might still feel some sympathy-- and a burning need to stab anyone like those Daises or their contractors-- but she will allow you your pride," he says, smiling warmly at her.

"You're forgetting a crucial detail here," she says, shaking her head. "Also, we should go in."

"Bah. You'll have to apologize-- and explain-- but she can't turn her back on someone so easily. She still loves _Anders_ and his brain stabbed her. She even reaches out to Carver from time to time after all he's done to hurt her," he says, opening the door.

_But those people weren't me_ , she says to herself, though she doesn't say it aloud. Instead, she follows him into the house, her hand straying near her dagger in case she needs to make a quick getaway from Bianca.

Thankfully for her, Varric and Bianca are too focused on the Moe situation to give her a hard time. Not that he's even sure he's supposed to be giving her a hard time. He loves his daughter, but gods above she has a complicated life.

~*~

It's Hawke who arrives first, tired and annoyed from a day spent politicking while stressed and worried. Isabela quickly slinks into the kitchen to 'make a quick snack and get drinks' while the two men share what little news they have. Less than twenty minutes later, Aveline shows up with Moe trailing behind her. She's trying to keep her face placid, but Hawke and Varric know her too well and see her carefully covered concern and... fury. Zevran, in the guise of showing Moe around the house, gives them a moment alone to discuss things, Isabela lurking off to the side so she and Hawke can ignore each other for now.

As soon as Moe is out of earshot, Aveline lets out a low but blistering string of curses in catfolk. Finishing, she bites off word by word, "agreed my ass. That's the- the- most technical definition of 'consent' I've seen outside of a rape case involving an arranged marriage."

"How do we get her back?" Marian's voice is tight, controlled, even -- meaning she's no less furious than Aveline right now. Her staff ices over, though she manages to keep the room at room temperature; she's been working on her control lately.

"I don't know, he- _it_ never said anything about that part. Felt like pulling teeth to get anything from it. Didn't seem to be lying or even evading most of the time, it just.. talking in circle or giving answers that lack the context I need to understand. And they're as convoluted as a devil's contract." She takes a deep breath. "I did manage to ask more about how this happened, maybe there's a clue in that. Evidently, they've been... chatting, long distance for two years now. Moe mentioned yesterday morning it would love to visit- mutual exchange of visitation- and Merrill agreed that it would be fun. Evidently that's enough for 'consent' for them, because it swapped right then and there. When I pressed, Moe admitted he-it- might not have gotten around to explaining how the visits would work, or that it was happening right the fuck then."

Huh. Is that ash falling from the ceiling? No, it must be snow -- the temperature's dropping. Whoops. "Funny how that works."

"So... she evidently... she didn't leave on purpose. Honestly, by our laws, this would be kidnapping," Aveline says quietly.

Varric is grinding his teeth a bit but he manages to ask, "anything else about the swap?"

"Just that it 'was sorry this seems to have caused distress, but it is fully legal by the laws of the people of this one' so tough shit."

"Right. So I'm thinking we need to travel to his home plane and drag her back, in order to force them to swap."

"It said legal?"

Hawke starts, turning to look at Isabela in the doorway to the kitchen. _Why is she even here, let alone chiming in?_

Isabela's eyes are unusually earnest as she focuses on Aveline. "Legal, specifically? Not moral or ethical or right?"

Aveline nods slowly. "It seems utterly bound by the idea of laws. More so than even most archons. When I mentioned, just offhand, something about a corrupt guard- or Law Enforcer to Moe- it went off for almost twenty minutes about how... profane that is. When it demanded why we did not have our Law Enforcers swore oaths of conduct and finding out we do, the guard broke his word, it... it seems stunned. As if the idea of breaking one's word was... not just wrong or bad, but literally unthinkable."

Isabela nods. She keeps quiet, however, until her ex-girlfriend's staring at her makes her give a self-conscious laugh. "It's just-- it's basically a fae, isn't it? Bound by traditions and laws, can't lie, very magical, like to make bargains with mortals?"

"That's... an interesting observation," says Hawke slowly.

"Well, you know me, I get around." When the half-elf doesn't say anything else, Isabela gives a hesitant smile. "That's good news, though, isn't it? Because it means we just have to find the loophole."

"The... loophole?"

"Fae always leave these little loopholes. There's always a way out with fae. You never know what you're getting into, but if you keep looking you'll find your way home."

"That... sounds possible," Varric says slowly. "Lots of outsiders have that sort of thing. Devils can't break contracts, though they twist them until they creak, daemons can't save the dying or even fake being tolerant of the idea of resurrection. Archons can't cheat in a game... yeah, that.... could be right."

"Of course, that means we still have to find the loophole or weak spot but... that's far more than we had a moment ago, thank you Isabela," Aveline adds with a weary smile.

The pirate starts to make a snarky comment, but after a glance at Marian, she says simply, "No problem."

Hawke shakes her head. "Right. Well. After we check Isabela for mind-swapping magic, let's put our heads together. What kind of loophole are we looking for? What's this guy like?"

Aveline frowns at Hawke for the catty remark, but merely replies, "well, lawful. Alien. He never uses names, except for its own. It is an it, evidently they don't have genders. Or eat, sleep or breath. It... doesn't like tunnels or the like, but basements didn't phase him"

"I'm thinking tunnels or names." says Marian, thoughtfully. "Tunnels could be a thing with their race I don't know about, and names can have magical power. It told us its name without hesitating, so that can't be it."

"Well... maybe it can lie. I mean, we already know it can omit things. So maybe that's just a use name or something? Or a title. It said... 'this one is' then the jumble so that would fit," Varric proposes. "There's a big difference between not breaking an oath and lying, especially if it's just misleading truth lies."

"It said, This one is M̱a̘̞̫͜n̟͞t͇̯͠i̵̤̠̰͇̫̖p̪̝̪̗͚o̬̭̕ͅͅs҉s̨͇̹̯̮̮i̡͈̺̰̦͇̙l̲͙̖̭̺͟i̟̩̼̰͉͠m̯̩̮o̝̹e̱͍̲̠̥̗̮li̷͍̖s." Hawke takes the name very, very slowly -- one syllable at a time, trying to sound it out. She's not quite right still, but almost. "Maybe just saying the name correctly would do it," she adds, after she's done. "In which case we're screwed. It also said... The friend of this one, whom this one has traded shells with for the next whatever period of time that was, calls this one Moe."

"Calls is also an old trick for lying about your name without getting caught out. 'Call me Jones' or whatever. That sort of thing is rife in stories about tricksters," Varric notes.

"You would know," Aveline says dryly. "Alright so... should we ask it outright? How can we figure this out?"

"But if you were going to go with calls," interjects Hawke, "why say the name first? Unless that's a title. I guess I can interrogate him about his culture's customs? See if I can find anything out?"

"Throw us off? If we think we know its name, then we won't think it's a weakness? But yeah, that might be too complicated. I think that's our best play for now," Varric admits.

The half-elf nods, getting to her feet. "I'll go find them."

Zevran is currently doing his best to distract Moe by giving a rather... detailed explanation of anal sex of all things in one of the guest rooms. Moe looks... well, it's a strange mix of fascination, horror, disbelief and curiosity. "Ah, Hawke, done fulfilling your familial duties to your father?" he asks cheerfully.

"Actually, I had a few questions for Moe. Aveline's been telling me about your culture, it's fascinating," she says, trying to seem happy and guileless. "Do you mind answering some things?"

"Greater understanding may lead to more efficient communication in the least. This one cannot speak of many things, but is willing to allow questions to be asked," Moe says after a moment to gather its thoughts. It also keeps darting glances at Zevran almost warily.

Marian grins. "Great! So Moe-- oh, is it okay if I call you Moe, by the way? You said Merrill does, but I don't actually know how names work, and she's a notorious nicknamer. Actually, that's a good place to start, isn't it? Dwarves have very different name patterns than Elves -- does yours mean anything?"

Moe considers this for a moment, attempting to answer twice during the deluge, then seeming to almost pout as it waits for her to finish. "Yes, the love of the friend of this one may call this one Moe. It is a sufficient starting point. The name of this one denotes the purpose, rank and bloodline of this one."

Zevran cocks his head. "So you add your rank and... profession to your name?"

Moe shakes its head. "Imprecisely only. It is the name given to one that denotes the rank and profession. Only the bloodline comes before the name is given."

"So your purpose is-- Can you break down your name for me?" she asks, tilting her head. "Is it a name, actually? Or a title? For example, I am called the Champion of Coalside, and I am called The Magus, but neither of those things are my _name_ , per se."

Moe sniffs. "Inefficient to have multiple labels. This one is M̱a̘̞̫͜n̟͞t͇̯͠i̵̤̠̰͇̫̖p̪̝̪̗͚o̬̭̕ͅͅs҉s̨͇̹̯̮̮i̡͈̺̰̦͇̙l̲͙̖̭̺͟i̟̩̼̰͉͠m̯̩̮o̝̹e̱͍̲̠̥̗̮li̷͍̖s. That explains all that this one has come from, what this one is to do, and how others should interface with this one during group tasks." A pause. "This one does not think the... minds of those present with this one capable of understanding this in truth, but an attempt at cursory understanding will be made."

"The root is s҉s̨͇̹̯̮̮i̡͈̺̰̦͇̙l̲͙̖̭̺͟i̟̩̼̰͉͠m̯̩̮, to denote the bloodline, which impacts other aspects of this one. o̝̹e̱͍̲̠̥̗̮li̷͍̖s denotes this one as a visitor, one who... studies, quantifies status of elsewheres. That which is li̷͍̖s defines that the elsewhere is this plane specifically. That which is e̱͍̲̠̥̗̮li̷͍̖ denotes that this one has visitied enough to be judged skilled. n̟͞t͇̯͠i̵̤̠̰͇̫̖p̪̝̪̗͚o̬̭̕ͅͅ denotes that this one has mastered bloodlne powers to sufficent degree.M̱a̘̞̫͜n̟͞t͇̯͠i̵̤̠̰͇̫̖ denotes the degree of skill in understanding mortal races. l̲͙̖̭̺͟i̟̩̼̰͉͠m̯̩̮o̝̹ denotes that this one is of a certain degree of worth for sharing of unutlized resources. M̱a̘̞̫͜n̟͞t͇̯͠i̵̤̠̰͇̫̖p̪̝̪̗͚o̬̭̕ͅͅ and i̵̤̠̰͇̫̖p̪̝̪̗͚o̬̭̕ͅͅs҉ combine to denote this one as having manifested specfic bloodline traits."

"Oh, that explains much," Zevran lies glibly. "Thank you for the lecture."

"Ah, I see," says Marian, nodding. _Fuck. They do this a **lot** \-- why's that? His whole job is to be, what, a cultural expert in mortals?_

"So by comparison, my given name is Marian. This is the name my mother picked for me when I was born, and it denotes my personal handle. My name at birth was Marian Hawke, with Hawke being my father's human father's family name; humans arrange themselves into bloodlines with the same name, unlike elves who all belong to the same tribe and name themselves appropriately. In the elven style, I would be Marian of Golden Shores. My name now is Marian Tethras Hawke -- Tethras is the Clan I belong to." While it's unusual, it's not unheard of for the child of a human and an elf to be a pureblooded elf; Marian and her siblings had been unlucky in that regard, with Marian being the only half-elf in a family of humans.

She pauses, then asks, "the bloodline mastery piece and the skill piece -- your bloodline is dedicated to the same thing you are skilled in? So, your whole family does this job, and you are very good at it? What job is that, by the way?"

Moe does seem interested, leaning in slightly as she explains. When she gets to questions again, it leans back as if disappointed. Still, Moe answers readily enough. "The bloodline of this one is focused on certain fields of mental prowess, which are useful to the purpose of this one. Many of the bloodline unit of this one have a similar purpose, but some are lesser examples and have lesser purposes. This one does not have a job. This one has a purpose."

"And that purpose is?" Zevran prompts when it doesn't continue.

"To visit subsections of this plane to quantify the status of that subsection."

"What kind of status? I'd be glad to explain more about Nyra if I knew what you were looking for," she adds.

Moe pauses that time. "Various date points," it finally replies. "Personal observation by this one is required."

"Date points?" she presses. "As in, dates in time? [Dates]? Or the fruit? [Date fruits]?" She slips into Elvan, hoping to supplement her Common to be more precise.

Moe replies in some kind of language comprised of high-speed clicks and buzzing, several hundreds of them, in a twenty second long answer.

"I... do not think either of us could understand that," Zevran admits.

"No," Moe agrees blandly.

_That's definitely it. Whatever that was -- I wish I'd thought to have Wynne send Rhys over!_ "Okay, so.. Moe, can you-- wait, I'm sorry, let me ask first, I notice you never use my name? Am I allowed to use yours or is that impolite?"

"The lover of the friend of this one might attempt so, but this one would prefer the false designation give by the fried of this one, Moe, instead of inaccurate attempts at vocalizing the name of this one," it says in a somewhat severe tone.

"Oh, are our names as hard for you to say as yours is for me?" she asks, wide-eyed.

"This one has the ability to correctly create the sounds."

"It's okay, there's no need to be ashamed. My name goes Mare - ee - an. It starts the same as Merrill's name, but with three syllables instead of two. Repeat after me: Marian."

Moe frowns slightly, the expression deepening a touch when Zevran helpfully says it with Marian, as if to help Moe understand the process.

"This one is capable of forming the sound. The one does not wish to use such inaccurate and crude designations and does not possess the understanding needed to properly craft a suitable designation for those of this plane," it says, tone a touch testy. Moe does sound like it disapproves of their 'inaccurate and crude designations' but...

_There's more to that story._ "But your descriptions are vague. For example, you said a moment ago, the lover of this one's friend. Presumably you have many friends? And Merrill has at least two lovers. So if you said Marian or Zevran, we'd know what you meant."

"Increasing accuracy increases complexity of communication, which has been shown to reduce understanding on a steeper curve than the greater accuracy increases," Moe explains, its tone implying that this is a failing of those it has to talk to.

"Right -- like how using a designation for me causes confusion about which of us you're speaking of. So for the sake of clear and accurate communication, it's best to use the personal monikers of anyone you're speaking to or about. Unless there's a problem with that?"

"This one does not wish to use such inaccurate and crude designations," Moe replies firmly. "This one understands that those of this plane require the use of a false designation for this one, but this one refuses to use such things."

"Is that for philosophical reasons or what?"

"It offends this one." A pause. "As does philosophy," it adds, then frowns. "This one must resume the purpose of this one."

Hawke puts her hands up. "I meant no offense. Please accept my apology." _So how do I trick him into saying my name? she wonders. Marian -- Mer means sea in Elven, maybe I can make use of that?_ "Oh, let me introduce you to my other friends. You'll like Isabela. She sails places on the sea, she can tell you a lot about this world." She starts for the other room, trying to catch Zevran's eye as she does. "Did you tell him anything about Isabela yet?" she asks, casually switching to Elven as though that's natural for her. She'll just 'forget' to switch back...

Zevran shakes his head, not noticing anything strange about the shift as he replies in the same language. Hawke does that all the time, after all. "No. Well, not by name, though she might have come up a little during my explanation of anal sex."

Moe winces a little. "This one would like to resume the purpose of this one," it repeats.

"Of course," Hawke replies in elven. "Come meet the sea wench." She leads him back to where the others were, making introductions.

"Isabela, can you tell Moe about your time on the sea?" she asks, casually.

Isabela blinks, but starts talking about the Siren's Call, her old ship.

Moe is initially reluctant to be engaged in the conversation, clearly wanting to be on their way to tour the city. In time, however, it gets caught up in a story involving a port. Not entirely slow on the uptake, the stories begin to heavily feature ports of various sizes. Varric clues in just as fast, making sure to give set up lines to new stories and adding in little tidbits he knows about the places in question. Or tidbits he makes up, could be either or both.

Almost forty minutes of this go by before Marian finally manages to maneuver Moe into saying the phrase 'into the sea alone' which sounds almost exactly like her name if spoken in common. And... nothing. Moe didn't even seem to notice.

_So it's not my name, or at least, not just my given name. Unless I have to get him to say Hawke? Or..._

"Have you seen the sea? The real sea, I mean," Isabela asks, in Elven, counting on the similarity of sounds: the mer reál.

"This one has not," Moe replies. "The subsections this one has visited have not been coastal."

Hawke straightens, just a touch. _Of course! Merrill's name, he's never said her name either!_ She takes over the conversation then, trying to work with that idea.

A volley or two behind Hawke, Varric clues in as well. It only takes the three of them five more minutes before, "this one is confused. The qualities given by that one," Hawke, "and that one," Isabela, "are different than the one given by," that one," Varric. "What is the established defining qualities of a real sea--"

Other than the suddenly silence, there's no sign of anything occurring. Then the shell of Merrill, and whoever (if anyone) in it crumples towards the ground. Hawke jumps out of her seat, rushing to try and catch Merrill before she hits the ground. She almost makes it -- her hand gets between Merrill's head and the floor, but only just. "Merrill? My love, can you hear me?"

Varric is already out the door with a shout of 'Wynne!'

Merrill, hopefully, is out. Her body is limp, but she has a pulse. Not breathing, but she only does that sometimes anyway, mostly when she gets really excited. And her eyes are closed and rolled back. _Fuck, fuck fuck, thinks Marian,_ beginning mouth-to-mouth. _I really really hope she doesn't have to be conscious to forgo air._

Isabela twitches faintly, getting to her feet. "Right, that's that taken care of, I'll just--"

Zevran lets out a loud sigh and flops into Isabela's lap. "I have no idea what any of you did, but I'm hoping that was good?" he asks tiredly.

Isabela nods. "We made him say Merrill's name. [Real sea]. Merrill."

"Huh." Zevran glances over at the pair. "Why did that do anything?"

Merrill doesn't react to the kiss or the blowing. But her pulse is staying steady, which is a good sign. If she was suffocating, it would speed up, if she recalls her lessons properly. And being a Tethras, of course she does. Hawke leaves off, then, staring down at Merrill's face as she holds her lover's hand. _Please come back to me..._

Isabela blushes faintly. "He reminded me of a fae -- they always leave loopholes."

Zevran smiles, reaching up to stroke her hair, though his eyes never leave the pair on the ground. "Hawke... is she..?"

"She doesn't need to breathe." Marian's tone is flat, a hint of pain creeping into it. "Her pulse is steady. I don't know if she's home."

The trio is silent for a moment, each of them dealing with that little fact as they will, then Wynne hurries into the house being carried by Rhys. He sets her down and steps back, allowing Wynne to kneel next to them both. A quick flurry of actions and words follow, ending with, "it's her. And she's just asleep, as if- as if her body hadn't had sleep in two days."

Marian's shoulders slump with relief and she sighs. "Thank Astea. I was worried it was worse than that."

Wynne squeezes Hawke's hand reassuringly. "She'll be up and about by tomorrow morning. We could use magic to speed it along but I think it would be gentler on her system to simply let her sleep."

Zevran shudders slightly, his hand curling around Isabela's tightly.

"Let her sleep," says Hawke. "As long as she comes back to me, I don't mind giving her some time."

Isabela winces again, but she doesn't move to go. Not with Zevran counting on her. And leaning on her. Physically.

Varric comes huffing in then. A look around the room and he lets out a relieved sigh. "Moonbeam alright then?" At Wynne's nod, he leans against a wall. "Drive a dwarf to drink, the lot of you."

"[Love you too, Papa]," says Marian automatically, in Dwarven.

"[gu wi ord]," mumbles Merrill, her dwarven no better for being asleep. Zevran breaks into gales of laughter; Varric follows soon after and even Wynne begins to chuckle.

Marian grins, planting a kiss on Merrill's forehead. "That's my Merrill," she says in Elven, relief palpable.

Isabela doesn't laugh. She lets go of Zevran's hand, now that he seems to be doing better, and just sits, uncomfortable. Once he notices she's taken her hand away, Zevran grabs for it again. Regaining control, he comments, "It would likely serve notre bon fleur well to rest in a bed, perhaps her own, no? Good Rhy could help with that, with Wynne to supervise? And mayhap you could let Aveline know she can relax?" he finishes, glancing at Varric.

Neither Wynne nor Varric are slow; they both realize Zevran is shooing them out. And given he's currently got Isabela pinned...

"Yeah, sure, sounds like a good plan," Varric says quickly, not wanting to be part of this right now.

Marian blinks, spies his holding Isabela's hand, frowns. "I can carry her."

"Okay, fuck subtle. I have ma'bela pinned, the two of you need to have adult talking now," Zevran says bluntly. "Alas, I have but one marvelous body so I can merely pout to stop you from running away," he adds, giving her a wide-eyed, lip trembling look of woe-begone pleading.

Marian sighs, looking to Wynne with a resigned expression. "Look after her?" she asks, before moving away from Merrill to let them leave. She takes a seat opposite Zevran and Isabela, waiting.

Zevran pokes the pirate queen in the belly- with a finger- once the other three (and Rhys) are gone. Isabela winces. "I'm... sorry?" she starts, trying to guess what he expects her to say.

Marian sighs. "Look, let's cut to the chase. I'm having a very hard week, and I don't really want to sit here hashing this out while Merrill's being looked after by someone else. So I'll just accept your apology, we'll go our separate ways, and in a year when you come back and pretend none of this happened, I'll probably go along with it. Alright?"

Zevran pokes her again. "Tell _her_ the things you mumbled to _me_. But without the vomiting or cursing, if you can. As she said, it's been a long week."

"What good would it do?" asks Isabela.

Marian stares at her in disbelief. "What good? What good. Are you serious right now? What good could it possibly do to let me into your life once in a while instead of always shutting me out, running away, and lying to me? Are we even having this conversation? Have I gone mad?" She continues after that, but it's in Dwarven at least.

Isabela holds up her hands. "Alright! Alright! Gods preserve me, I get the picture!"

"Is it a nude?" Zevran asks. "Can it be a nude picture?"

Isabela shakes her head as Marian falls quiet. "My mother was a kelpie," she says, after a moment. "And this doesn't get around -- Zevran's the only one I've ever told about the woman -- but she was a cunt."

Hawke's eyebrows shoot up. _Why the heck are we talking about Isabela's mother?_

Zevran gives Hawke a pointed look. _How much of **your** issues come from your own mother?_ , he says rather eloquently without words.

The half-elf nods. _Fair point._

Isabela, oblivious to the nonverbal conversation, continues: "She sold me. I was married young -- as soon as I came of age, actually. To a stranger."

Marian nods. "And that makes you reluctant to yoke yourself now?"

"You have something of a type, mon faucon doux," Zevran notes with a smirk. "Well, two. Hopelessly devoted or... cats."

Hawke rubs at her temples. "Bela. You know. You _know_. Better than this. I would never ask you to make promises you can't keep. I haven't asked that of Zevran, have I? But you keep running out on me, as if I mean nothing to you."

Isabela swallows the rebuke, looking at her lap. "I guess I do." Zevran looks back up at her, his expression supportive and loving.

"Why? Isabela, why can't you just... talk to me? Why do you run?"

Isabela sighs again. "I don't know. I guess I'm a compulsive liar."

"The same reason you lie when you have troubles," he suggests, looking now at Hawke. "Fear. Self-doubt. A worry that you will be rejected or abandoned, though your reasons differ."

"What have I done to give that impression?" she asks, bitterly. "You trust me, and you've had it worse than she did."

"Yes, but I was broken and you picked up my pieces. Ma'bela was scarred, yes, but whole, mostly, when you met her," he replies carefully.

"Maybe I could have helped if she'd told me--!"

"You have a spell that sends you back in time ten years?" asks Isabela, her tone dark. "I don't need rescuing. Not Isabela."

"She does not need help. She needs love and patience. And to grow a pair," a slight pause as he has fight past the image of Isabela with cock and balls, interesting and appealing, "so she can try and trust more than one person. She is not... she is not Anders, or myself, but rather more like Varric. But with curves and no body hair."

sabela makes a face. "And prettier by far."

Marian sighs. "So you got into a loveless marriage. Are you still married? Is that why you got kidnapped?"

"No." Her tone is dark, with a definite edge of _leave it_.

Zevran coughs a little. "Those details are unimportant at the moment," he says airily. "Focus on feelings and now."

_Feelings. Right. Come on Isabela, you can do this._ "I want..." she begins, then stops, unsure of herself. She takes a deep breath. "I like you. A lot."

Marian snorts. "No, really?"

Isabela shakes her head. "I mean -- so much, it scares me sometimes. A lot of the time." _All of the time._

Zevran captures a hand and gives it a squeeze. "Even pretty dwarves are bad at expressing their feelings," he offers to the room.

_I am not a dwarf,_ Isabela thinks to herself.

"Hey, I'm the dwarf in this room," jokes Marian.

Isabela forces a chuckle. "So that's why I keep leaving. Now you know my big secret -- I'm nothing but a coward."

"I'd wondered," says Marian, more gently. "After Anders."

"You are more than a coward," Zevran says in his best charming voice. "You are also sexy, funny, witty, skilled with blades, lewd, free-spirited, canny, charming, perverted, sexy, strong-willed, stubborn, selectively kind, surprisingly generous, sexy and, most of all, a pirate captain. And you have a truly marvelous ass. Really, it's almost as good as my own, it's amazing."

Isabela laughs then, a real laugh this time. "Fair enough. But I think you forgot sexy."

Marian smiles. "You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not trying to trap you here."

Isabela's smile fades. "I didn't think you were."

"Then what--"

"You'll die."

Marian is silent, watching Isabela for a moment.

"I have pointed out that we may all die- pirating is not exactly the safest vocation and I court a heart-attack or stroke with every weekly orgy," Zevran says gravely. "But hearts are stubborn and simple things that give little heed to reason."

Isabela looks away, leaving Marian to speak first. "I can't... I won't live forever. I can't promise that. But... if it helps, I'm retiring."

"How can you retire? You... don't have a job, exactly," Zevran points out.

"I do now," she points out. "I'm a Guiding Light. I think that will have to supersede being a hero for the time being."

"...okay, two things," Zevran says, seeming both amused and exasperated. "One, if something were to happen to any of your Clan, would you not do exactly as you did twice in as many days and rush to their defense? Because I am fairly certain that you would politely ask Mileen herself to wait a moment to come to our aid if you even thought it might become needed."

_Isn't that what I did?_ wonders Hawke, opening her mouth to say as much.

"Oh wait," he gives her a pointed look. "And two, have you been sure to inform not just all of Nyra but fate, luck and the gods about this? Because let us be honest, the most dangerous things you have ever done were, for the most part, stumbled on by yourself almost without warning and certainly without your intent."

THe hero winces. "I do a lot to make sure I know about threats ahead of time," she says quietly. "Spies and informants and the occasional patrol... I could just stop. Tell Varric I don't want to know about anything other than what happens to me and mine. Spend more time with all of you and less time throwing myself at every evil in the city. Let things like Memento Mori just.. go."

"And then zombies," Zevran points out. "All the zombies we could ever want which is zero so I suppose it's all the zombies we never wanted. And no you couldn't. You'd go mad in a fortnight, at least, and fling yourself into the nearest shady looking warehouse to fight a demonic wagon or something. You're a hero, not because of what you do, or what the gods want of you, but because of who you are in your heart."

"Let's be real here," says Hawke, her tone dark. "I'm a hero because of what's in Varric's heart. I wasn't like this before I met him."

"Bah. He's clearly the crusty mentor that showed you the potential hidden deep within you," he replies.

"I mean it. I was.. I was on a bad path. He saved me from that. But for myself... I would rather not widow Aveline a second time. I would rather never see Merrill cry like that again. I would rather be your moral compass in your old age."

"I am not opposed to any of that save the part about me getting old. I will never get old, I will become... refined. But being... more careful is not the same as giving up. Just remember to ask for help," he gives them both a look at this, "and talk to people. Don't try and shoulder all your burdens yourself. Make Varric and Aveline help, they're both the sturdy sort."

_All, what, five years of it?_ Marian recalls, and makes a face. "Both of them were there, three years ago."

Isabela runs a hand through her hair. "I don't... I don't think you can stop, not now. Any more than I can give up dreaming of the sea. It's in your blood."

"And we got you back, didn't we? Let us be honest Hawke. That was one of the worst moments of my life. I cannot, will not, deny it. But if you had not been there, had not made the choice you did, we would _all_ be dead or worse." He sighs a little, then forces the rest out. "I would rather... I would rather lose you entirely, then watch your soul slowly bleed out as you force yourself to become such a wretched, shallow thing as you propose. Have some pale imitation walking around in your... shell." _Like Moe, but for decades. And worse, because I would know it was not some alien thing, but the hollow ghost of you._

Marian shivers, letting some of the horror of the past day sink in at last -- now that Moe is gone. She closes her eyes, taking a moment to let fear and pain rise up in her and subside again. "Yeah," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I can see that." She takes a deep breath, lets it out. Opens her eyes, looks into Isabela's. "And if you can't... if you don't want to be there for some mere five years or so," she says, causing a wince from the sky pirate.

"I shouldn't have--"

"No, it's fine. You're right. I get it. If you can't be with me, then don't be with me. I can respect that."

"Oh for fuck's sake, don't you two even dare to switch positions just to keep arguing!" Zevran demands. "You love her, you love her, Hawke will be a careful hero, Isabela will be more honest with you and herself. Wonderful. Let's get naked and starting making out so when Varric gets back we can hear him make that funny squeaky warble noise. And also have sex."

Hawke chuckles, but it's a pained chuckle. "Look, I didn't know about her past. But I knew what her problem was. She flat out told me when she dumped me."

Isabela smiles faintly. "And then I got drunk."

"And then you got drunk, apparently." Marian frowns. "Not sure why. You were pretty clear on breaking up with me."

Isabela runs her fingers through her hair. "Only because Zevran told me to. I didn't... I wouldn't have, otherwise. But he said it was cruel to play with your heart, and I agreed."

"That is not what I said to do," Zevran grumbles to himself as they talk.

Hawke gives a bitter laugh. "I can protect my own heart. Or well, I can't, but you leaving won't change that one way or the other. Do you want to be with me?"

"I..." She swallows, struggling to put the words together.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Wait--"

"You're really quick to tell me when you don't want something. But wanting something, that's harder. So. You want me. And I want you, even if you keep leaving me. So how about you stop pretending you'll abandon me for good and I'll keep on pretending I don't worry that stupid airship of yours will crash and burn when I'm not around to put out the fire, and we'll take it one day at a time?"

Zevran snickers at Hawke's solution, then starts wiggling out of his pants while still in Isabela's lap.

Isabela smiles. "I think I can do that."

~*~

It's about eight in the morning when Hawke is woken by the feeling of someone gumming her shoulder. Strangely, this is not an unfamiliar sensation, though it usually only happens when Merrill loses track of time on a crafting project, skips dinner and falls into bed exhausted. She's dreaming about breakfast and is acting it out a little. It's a silly thing, and very- Merrill. As her brain starts to engage properly, she reminders the events of yesterday.

On the other side of the elf woman, Zevran slumbers peacefully. And... there's someone behind her? Ah. Aveline. Wait, Aveline? At the same time as... huh. She must have been weirded out by Moe more than she was willing to let on. Then again, they are all still wearing clothes, even Zevran. Not much for him, but he's not naked. And they have a chaperone, she realizes, picking up the sound of Silence's quiet but deep snores from just beyond the the foot of the bed. Beka as well, though she's on the floor nearest Aveline.

Merrill is starting to wake, as she always does shortly after she starts having a food dream. "Merrill," Hawke breathes, rolling over to cuddle up to the elf. She wraps her arms tightly around Merrill's thin, bony body, folding her in close, as though afraid to let go.

Merrill lets out a soft 'murble' and nuzzles into Hawke, her hands starting to wander. Slowly, the elf's eyes open to reveal the normal dazed zombie expression she has before being given a mug of strong tea. Or something just as bracing, as she seems to be heading for this morning. "My star" she mumbles softly in Elven as she presses kisses against Hawke's jawline.

"My own beloved, my flower, my heart," she whispers back, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Are you safe?"

"No, I'm a ram," she says back sleepily. "It's because they have horns," she explains, clearly repeating a terrible joke Zevran or Isabela taught her. She pauses then, tasting the tears with her kissing. Pulling back an inch, she shakes her head a bit to try and clear it. "Hawke? What's wrong, what..." She blinks. "I'm... is this home?" Ah, and now memory is kicking in it seems.

"Yes, you stupid, wonderful girl. You're home."

"Did... did I really go to a silent city of twisted crystal towers and- and- a sky filled with jagged teeth?" she asks, voice trembling, body trembling even more. "Hawke, please say it was a bad dream, please..."

"It wasn't." She strokes Merrill's cheek gently, watching her face.

Merrill bursts into tears, clinging tightly to Hawke. Zevran, clearly awoken by this, moves to embrace her from behind, sandwiching the weeping girl between her loves. Behind Hawke, Aveline's hand starts to rub Hawke's back as the guard tries to offer comfort without... intruding.

"Merrill... why didn't you tell me about this? Why did you just... go?" She knows, she really knows, it wasn't intentional but... Merrill's always running off to do dangerous things and rarely tells Hawke, and yet over and over Hawke has said don't talk to those people, steer clear of that, try to remain skeptical of your new friends...

Merrill just continues to sob, her entire body shuddering. It's quickly becoming clear this isn't just sadness, relief or guilt, but also repressed terror finally being let go. It takes almost five minutes before Merrill is mostly recovered, though she still clings to Hawke like a limpet and and trembles lightly. When Hawke prompts her again, she tenses but mumbles a reply into the crook of the half-elf's neck. "I didn't mean to g-g-go. I thought he w-w-would come here and I c-c-c-could... could finally in-n-ntroduce you to o-o-one of my ssssspirtits." She sobs again, body jerking in Hawke's embrace. "It was ssssso quiet!"

Marian holds Merrill close, rubbing her back. "Sshh, my love, it's alright. You're home."

"I love you, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry," she whispers brokenly, still in elven.

"Shhhhh," Zevran whispers back, stroking her hair. "You are safe with us. All shall be well."

"I can stay?" she pleads.

"Of course you can stay," whispers Hawke, her heart breaking. "This is your home."

Merrill whimpers softly, burrowing even tighter against Hawke. "Why- why did M-m-moe..." She can't finish whatever she's about to ask as fresh sobs overtake her.

"He was a bad person, Merrill. He wanted to hurt you." Hawke continues rubbing the elf's back, trying to sooth her.

"But- Mo- I w-w-was that one's f-f-friend," she whimpers, her voice shattered and ripe with pain.

"He was using you, my darling, trusting, naive little flower," Marian says, quietly, but not unkindly.

"But- b-but." she protests, more to the idea of it rather than the fact. Moe had taken her body from her, even if she had gained the body of Moe. Moe had taken her home from her, even if she had gained the home of Moe. Moe had taken her spirits, the endless whispers and quiet conversations that have filled her life for longer than she can remember... and all she had gained with a broken, swirling sky that snarled and screamed through broken teeth. Moe had taken her _from Hawke and Zevran_ , and no gain could begin to match that loss. Could even begin to make up for tricking her into _abandoning_ her loves, just like she'd made them both promise never to do. Keening softly, she falls apart again in the embrace of her lovers.

Marian cuddles Merrill, showering her with cuddles, with the reality of her body to offset the surreality of changing dimensions. There's nothing sexual about it -- she curls up around her tightly, grounding her in the here and now, holding her while she cries. _Merrill,_ her heart screams, but all she can do is hold her. Zevran does much the same, just presses against her her while whispering a stream of soothing nothings in her ear. Aveline, not entirely certain of her place here but not willing to leave, rests a hand on Merrill's shoulder in support, but mostly just tries to give comfort to Hawke. If she can't directly help (unsure if she should even try), she can at least give Hawke the strength she needs to be strong for Merrill.

At some point during this, Wynne looks in but just offers a weary smile before withdrawing. She'll no doubt offer her shoulder and comfort later, but for now, Merrill is in good hands. It's a a short time after that when Merrill finally calms again. "S-s-sorry," she mumbles. "I... I'm sorry I... I d-didn't... I'm so sorry, please d-don't l-l-l-l," she can't finish, can't put her fear into words.

"I won't leave you, Merrill. Not for this. Not ever, if I can help it." Marian's tone is soothing, reassuring. "I just worry for your safety."

"Thank you, love you," she babbles, attempting to feather Hawke's face with kisses, twisting around to do the same to Zevran he reaffirms his own forgiveness and love.

"How are you feeling, physically, I mean?" Aveline asks cautiously.

Merrill blinks, craning her neck around to look at the guard. "...Aveline? You're... here? In bed?" she asks, a touch stunned.

Aveline flinches, looking awkward. "I... wanted to- I'm sorry if I'm intruding on-"

Merrill shakes her head quickly, hand reaching around to try and grip her arm. "No, thank you, I..." She sniffs again, touched by the paladin reaching out like this, being there for here now. "I love you all so much," she wails.

"I love you too, my darling," Hawke whispers, snuggling closer to Merrill.

"I as well, my precious flower," the half-drow croons.

"Ah, well... I..." Aveline sighs. "...I love you too, Merrill," she finally says, then quickly adds, "and I tolerate Zevran. Mostly. When he behaves."

Zevran puts on an exaggerated pout, "Does this mean no fours-"

"I will castrate you, elf-boy," Aveline growls, causing Merrill to break into wet giggles.

Marian's laughter rings out, breaking a bubble of tears she'd been trapped inside for some time. It feels better, having laughed, like some of this dark, heavy weight in her chest has evaporated. Merrill fucked up, yes, but Merrill is _home_.

~*~

Later that day Wynne claims Merrill to have her own chance to coddle and comfort her foster daughter. Zevran has headed off to check in on Voice and Aveline had to go ready herself for work. That leaves... where did Varric get off to? She hasn't seen him all day. Noting finding him at Wynne's, she heads home to find him in his office as always. Probably trying to catch up on the backlog created by the last few days.

Hawke knocks on the open door as she comes in. "Good afternoon."

Varric holds up a finger, eyes locked on a paper as his mouth moves silently. After a moment, he leans in, posture going intent and focused. "..and the second party to the fourth party agreement shall be binding under Article Seven, Sub-section J, pending a review by an arbiter as chosen by the first party and approved by the second through eight parties via majority vote as per Article Seven, Sub-section E with the fees addressed to the party liable according to Codicil VII, ancillary document 'Codex of Fees' with dues addressed to the party liable according to Codicil VII, ancillary document 'Codex of Fees' for the duration of the compact of parties one, four, six and eight regarding housing and storage as determined by Article One, sub-section F." A beat, then he grins ferally. "Which means I can invoke Article One, sub-section D's clause about over-stock and... gotcha, you little coal eater." Making a note with a victorious flourish, he turns to Hawke. "Yeah, what's- Hawke. You're up. Is Moonbeam okay?"

She nods. "She's... she's been through a lot, but she's okay." She smiles, tiredly, moving to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I wanted to stop by and check in."

"Sure, I could use a break," he says, turning in his chair to face her and moving some stuff over so she can lean on the desk. "Good to hear about Moonbeam. How are you doing?" he adds.

"Been better, but been worse," she says, curling into the loveseat. "Did I ever thank you, by the way?"

_Ah, that kind of check-in._ "A time or two, yeah," he replies, eyes moving to a picture frame on the wall across from his desk. From her seat, she can just make out the words placed dead center inside the frame: Champion of Coalside to become Guiding Light.

She follows his gaze, blushing faintly. "It's your doing, you know. All of this, all I am... it wouldn't be possible if you hadn't taught me better than I knew."

"All I did was give you a hand up. You're the one that grabbed me and ran," he says simply. "Definitely got my silver's worth though. Best damn assistant I've ever had, that's for sure."

"I was literally on the verge of becoming a prostitute." she says, flatly. "I think you did more than just help me up. You showed me a better life was possible."

Varric shrugs. "Nothing wrong with that life," he says, even if he's not entirely convincing. For one, he's well aware that the type of prostitute she'd have become back then was a bad thing. "I gave you a hand, you did the work. Sure, maybe it's a bit more than that, but I could say the same for you really. Besides, no debts, remember?"

"No debts," she agrees. "But I could do better at showing gratitude."

Varric considers that a moment, then nods. "Fair is fair then. You're welcome... for giving me a daughter I am endlessly proud of having."


	4. "I will not be able to be left alone."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosemary goes into heat; Hawke does what she can to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [SPOILER] Content note: this is the chapter involving sexual assault. This and the next chapter will deal with it directly, though the actual assault is not shown.

The late summer gives way to autumn at last, and Hawke begins to settle into her new life as a Guiding Light. As promised, the endless rounds of introductions, parties, and social hours begin to taper off, and she is finally released to spend more time with her Clan. Rosemary becomes a constant companion, having been lonesome since Hawke was busy; on her urging, Hawke picks out a small property in Lily and Oak, taking out a line of credit to purchase it. The place has a large ballroom, which Rosemary falls in love with; the kitten seems to spend most of her time there when she's not with Hawke, as though it were her own home. Not that Hawke can begrudge her. She remembers Coalside too well to deny her a safe place to sleep at night.

One evening, Rosemary, Hawke, and Varric are sitting in his parlor, enjoying some mulled cider that Rosemary had suggested they make. It's apparently her mother's recipe, and she recalls it well enough to put it together; she's not a great cook, but she can do a few things, and Hawke doesn't mind learning new recipes. It's a pleasant, crisp evening. Hawke is going over her diary for the following few weeks, making sure she hasn't forgotten anything in terms of duties. "Do you think I should have a party next Morday? It's been quite some time, and I've got the afternoon free."

"You can't," says Rosemary, simply.

Varric glances over, mentally running over his own schedule as well as Hawke's. "You sure? I think she's free-- so am I, though Lawful will have to work and Shadow's got that big festival thing all next week so it'd just be us, Moonbeam and maybe Wynne available."

"No, she can't." repeats Rosemary. "My time will have begun. I need her."

"Your-- you mean, ah?" she says, eyebrows raised. "I wish you'd have said something sooner, when do you need me?"

"Metalladay through the Metalladay next, possibly longer."

Varric glances off to the side, feeling awkward, until he hears the time span. "Ah, the whole week? She... she's kind of got a lot of balls in the air right now. And she's already agreed to help Zevran Aquaday, setting up for his anniversary festival."

She will have to cancel."

Hawke coughs. "Ah, what? I don't think that's going to work, Rosemary."

Rosemary lifts her head, glaring up at Hawke. "I will not be able to be left alone."

"Perhaps Isabela--"

"I want **you**. You are safe."

"You could have mentioned this earlier," Varric points out. Hawke has a lot of things to do- beyond her plans with Zevran, she has meetings as well, plus she'd been helping him work through some paperwork. His brother's ventures have been going fair too well lately and he's afraid the dumb little fuck has starting crossing lines again.

"I did. Moons ago."

Hawke pinches the bridge of her nose. "Before I became a Light. I remember, but really, my whole schedule changed since then."

Rosemary lets out a low, rumbling growl. "Am I important?"

Hawke stills. "You know you are."

"Then why am I not important enough to take care of during my time of confinement?"

"Because you're not the only important thing," Varric says, trying and failing to just let them figure this out. But that last bit of emotional blackmail was too much. "She can't dump everything to focus on just you."

"I will be alone and unable to think rationally." Rosemary's tail lashes from side to side as she stares up at Hawke in earnest.

Hawke sighs. "I'm not saying I won't do it, Rosemary. I just wish you'd said something sooner so I could plan around this, that's all. I'll have to skip out for a few hours here and there, but for the most part, yes, of course I'll be there."

Varric sighs, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper to try and figure out how to rearrange an entire week of meetings, work and socializing as best he can. "You're explaining it to Merrill," he says bluntly.

Hawke winces. "Agreed. I'm going to spend my evenings over there for the next week to make it up to her."

~*~

Merrill isn't happy with this little vacation but Hawke apologizes profusely, promising to make it up to her after the fact. She has to cancel a couple dinners with Aveline too, but she does promise not to run off and get married to Rosemary or anything like that. Isabela's gone off adventuring, so that mostly leaves Zevran she has to explain to before the time arrives.

Aquaday comes around, and she turns up on Zevran's doorstep, looking like she hasn't slept in two days. She's combed her short hair somewhat, but there are bags under her eyes and she looks quite wrung-out. She plasters a tired smile on her face when she sees her lover, however. "Hey. Where do you need me?"

Zevran glances at her, frowns, then gestures at the stairs. "Second door on the right, test out the shower to make sure it's warm and flows well, then the bed to see if it's comfortable. Let me know how it turned out in a few hours," he says briskly.

Hawke sighs. "I'll live. I'm planning to see if Aveline can spot me on the way home when we're done here."

"Have you gotten any sleep at all since this started?" he asks, concern in his voice. Even he finds it... difficult to manage some of the more vigorous catfolk and kitsune during their heat. There is a reason why it is not only one gender of those races that enters heat.

"Some. A little, here and there. I'm managing." She smiles.

"A little here and there isn't going to get you through the rest of the week," he says firmly. "I'll send for my healer to make you a tonic, but you should rest a bit."

"Please." Her voice is quiet. "Let me help you. Let me be with you, for this little time."

Zevran softens, then sighs. "As long as you drink the tonic and share a meal with me before you go," he compromises.

"Agreed." She moves closer to him, resting her forehead on his chest for a moment. "Thank you, my warrior."

Pressing a kiss to her crown, he sighs. "Very well. Would you prefer to double check the oil and cream inventory or help Lux and Dominique with costume checks and repair?"

"I'll help Lux and Dominique." She smiles, tiredly, at him, before heading to find them.

~*~

Marian is forty-five minutes late to Seli's Caelday brunch, running into her Andy training session by fifteen minutes before she even knocks on the door. To be honest, she'd needed to sit down twice before she got to their place, but she was determined not to let that show. Not to let anything show. To not betray Rosemary by leading people to believe badly of her when she's unable to control her behavior. _Just a few more days. Then I can sleep._

Seli, worried that Hawke was so late without word, had been lingering near the window and so the door opens before she gets past the first knock. "Hawke, is everything alright?" she asks with concern.

"Yes, quite," she says, tiredly. "I have been overbooked this past week, I'm so sorry to be late."

Seli purses her lips, then guides her in. "Well, take a seat and I'll reheat the soup while you have some sandwiches," she says firmly.

Andy is in the kitchen when they enter, leaning over at the table as he helps Gilly and Tomas sound out some words from... an arcana text. Eh, it's a basic primer and this is Nyra. The second they spot her, however, they're out of their seats and leaping at her to deliver high-speed hugs. Marian opens her arms wide to catch the twins -- and a moment later, she's looking up at them from the ground, her vision swimming, her left arm crumpled awkwardly underneath her bulk. Andy leaps up, rushing over to scoop up the now distraught children even as Seli is checking over Hawke. The tiefling cradles them close, trying to calm them down while trying to watch what's going on over their heads.

"Hawke, what happened?" Seli asks briskly, gently lifting her up to unpin her arm.

"Nn," she moans, wiggling her hand and feeling pain. _Sprain in that wrist, at least. Crap._ "I'm fine," she mumbles, shaking her head. "I just got dizzy for a moment there." Up close, Seli can see the deep bags under her eyes, the glazed look.

"Hawke, you look exhausted," she says with concern. "Here, at least let me heal that arm," she says, muttering a quick prayer.

"Sorry, Auntie Hawke," Gilly whispers, tears pooling in her eyes. Next to her, her brother nods and mumbles something into Andy's chest.

"Gilly, it wasn't your fault, I just fell down," says Marian, trying to put a cheery spin on things. "I remember when you used to fall all the time."

"Da Andy says hafta say sorry when you push sumone, even issa asydent," she says solemnly.

Seli gives Gilly a warm smile even as Andy presses a kiss to the crown of her head. "Hawke, you look exhausted, what have you..." She trails off, as a handful of subtle clues give her an idea as to the answer to her question. "Who, rather?" she finishes instead, voice a scolding.

"Uh-oh." Tomas whispers, having turned a little to peek at the goings on.

"It's fine," she says again. _Honesty? Trust?_ a voice whispers in her mind in Dwarven, but she pushes it aside. _I can't turn Rosemary into a second Anders. She needs me. We're going to have a long talk about this after her time is passed, but it's nobody else's business._ "It's just been a long week."

"Andy, why don't you take the twins out for some pudding?" Seli says. "Some sweet would be just the thing after a little scare, won't it?" she asks the twins, who nod in unison, despite both of them giving Auntie Hawke worried looks.

"...alright," Andy agrees, exchanging a look with Seli that speaks volumes. "I'll bring you back a bit of sweet cream pudding, yeah?" Seli smiles at hem thankfully, and not for the dessert. Much anyway.

Hawke smiles, running her hand through her hair. "Have fun, kids!"

The twins pull away from Andy and- slowly, carefully- come over to give Hawke very gentle hugs and synchronized kisses on her cheeks. A few moments later and Andy has them shoed and holding his hands as they leave the house.

Seli helps Hawke up and fusses her into a seat, food set in front of her before she can blink. Seli has taken to the role of mother scarily well, to the point where sometimes she uses her newfound powers on the adults in her life. "Alright, we're alone now so... Spill," she orders.

Hawke doesn't spill -- verbally, at least. She does set upon the food in a hurry, however. That can't be just a delay tactic -- she eats like it's her first meal of the day, which it might well be. "It's not really that big a deal," she begins again, after a bit. "I've been busy. Too busy to sleep. For a few days."

"Yes, I gathered from the way your hair is mussed, the bite marks on your neck, the very careful way you're sitting- still a bit sensitive, I suspect- and so on. I am a priestess of Ciren, Hawke, even if I'm not, ah, anywhere as near as... hmm, zealous as your friend Zevran," she says dryly.

She winces. "Please. The last, the very last thing I want right now is to talk about sex. Or think about sex."

"Rosemary in heat then?" She sighs, a trifle knowingly. "Keep eating, I'll get some juice for you. You'll need it. And a salve for... chafing."

She nods, with a small groan. "It's not her fault. She can't help herself."

Seli glances back at her from the cold-box, where she's getting a pitcher of sweet apple-pear juice. "Is this her first heat then? I thought she was older," she comments.

"No, it's not..." Hawke looks confused, a little, through the exhaustion.

Seli comes back with the jug of juice and pours Hawke a glass. "This isn't her first heat?" She asks, frowning now a little. "She should have more control of herself... The first time, as I understand it, catfolk, kitsune, vanaras and some ratfolk can be very overwhelmed by their heats. It's basically the entire first year of puberty all compressed into a single week in many ways after all, so it's understand that a youngling could be rather overcome by it all." She picks up Hawke's now empty bowl of soup and goes to refill it, still talking. "Also why it's traditional in most cultures for the younglings family to arrange a trusted family friend to, ah, be on hand so they can be helped through it. Kitsune have it a bit rougher, as they almost all share the same week, but the other races have a bit more variance, with the younger ones more having their heats later than most of the others. But by the second, third heat at the most, they should be able to still reason and even obtain entirely if they have to. One of my fellow initiates, a vanaras, was willing to talk about her personal experiences. She said it was like having a persistent itch and trying not to scratch it. Doable, but taxing, though it's possible to make it perfectly manageable with just masturbation. A male catfolk in the group didn't offer his own story, but he agree with her generally," she finishes, setting the bowl back down in front of Hawke. "Annnnd it seems Instructor Seline has found her way to the table, sorry."

"It's fine," says Hawke, with a grateful smile. "Rosemary doesn't masturbate, so it's a bit rough on us both."

"Are you taking a tonic? Even with your normally high drive and stamina, keeping up with a heat is... very rough on those without that benefit themselves," she says with some worry. She then pauses, head tilting. "And... if you don't mind, may I ask why she doesn't? Masterbate, I mean."

"She doesn't enjoy it. I um, I gather that she doesn't have much sex drive normally. I guess she's like Aveline -- she likes it once in a while but nowhere near as often as I do? Except during heat." Hawke grabs her spoon again, this time eating soup at something approximating a normal person's speed.

"That's also very common," Seli notes. "Of the four races that experience heat as a common trait, only ratfolk routinely copulate outside of their heats. Vanaras more often than catfolk or kitsune, but still well below the norms for other races. I don't have any tonic on hand, rather I don't have the right tonic on hand, but I can get some easily enough. Perhaps we can make a quick stop when you leave? The salve I have, but we can get some at the same shop so you can pick out your own scent," she adds with a smile, perfectly at ease saying she has a soothing, lubricating salve on hand.

Hawke sighs, between spoonfuls. "I have training today, and I can't stay too long. She'll, um, be awake soon."

"Andy can spare a session," the priestess says firmly. "Besides, do you really think he's not getting a workout riding herd on two sugar-fueled toddlers right now?"

The half-elf smiles a touch. "If it was the physicality I was worried about..."

"Hawke," Seli says gently. "It's fine. Let me mother you a bit. You're taking care of a friend, so let me take care of you, alright?" she asks softly.

Hawke's smile grows a bit rueful. "Yessum," she says, clearly teasing. "Sorry. I don't know how to be mothered. My mother was... not a great person."

"Then I'm happy to show you," Seli says, reaching out to cover Hawke's hand with her own. "Though just to be clear, most mothers don't make out with their daughters when they've had a half-glass too many of wine," she says with a smile and a light blush, referring to when they'd been celebrating her successful passing of the trials needed to be sworn-in as a full member of Ciren's clergy. Much gossip and wine was had, which had lead to Seli feeling the need to explain her favorite kissing technique via demonstration. And then... well, Hawke is a very good kisser.

Hawke grins. "Oh good. I was wondering about that. Afraid I'd missed some vital part of childhood with that one."

Once Hawke has eaten all she can bear, Seli guides her to her favorite apothecary for some salve and an energy tonic. It's clearly run by a Cirenite or at least by someone who knows their clientele is mostly Cirenites, as the 'intimate needs' section of the store is nearly a third of the stock. Still, knowing Hawke is in a hurry, Seli doesn't waste time in recommending a few salves for Hawke to choose from, as well as some tonics designed to help someone cope with, ah, long bouts of strenuous activity.

That done, Seli sends Hawke off with her purchases and a small bag of meat buns and fruit, food that she can quickly eat without worrying about preparing or even heating it. The sheer ease and practiced air Seli does all this almost makes Hawke wonder about what she and Lovan used to get up to with Andy...

~*~

She was meant to be back Metalladay, but it's just after dinnertime on Morday when the knock Varric's been waiting for finally comes. When Varric reaches the door and yanks it open, he's wearing his full kit, just in case something had come up. He's... hoping it's just that Rosemary didn't want to let her leave right off, or that Hawke feel asleep but with their Clan's luck... yeah, just in case.

Hawke looks worn -- has she slept this past week? Has she lost a bit of weight? Most people wouldn't notice, but he sees her almost every day, a papa can tell. She's showered, at least, her hair still damp from it. She leans on her staff -- a bad habit many staff-Wizards get into, but one she hadn't had when she left. Her eyes are ringed like drawings of bears he's seen, the black and white ones that supposedly eat plants, and a bit red. Her smile is worn, but genuine.

She speaks to him in Common, her voice hoarse: "Sorry I'm late." Starting with an apology might be the worst sign yet. "I hope I didn't worry you."

"Astea, Hawke, are you sure she's not part succubus?" he says as he hurries to support her. "You look terrible, when was the last time you got more than an hour of sleep in a go?"

"Uh," she says, thinking back. "A while? I had a tonic, though. The tonic was--" here she's cut off by a huge yawn.

"Clearly not enough," he says worriedly. "Come on, off to bed with you. I'll send word around you're going to be sleeping in." Not giving her a chance to argue, he tugs her along towards the room he still keeps for her and likely always will.

Marian smiles faintly. "Thanks, Papa," she says, then frowns. _That didn't sound right._ "[Papa]." Better.

"Daft daughter of mine," he replies back in the same Dwarven as he leads her to the bed. "Sit and I'll get your boots off. You'll have to deal with the rest yourself," he adds firmly.

"I think I'll leave them on," she mumbles, faintly. "I like people liking me with clothes on."

_Ouch._ "Alright, that's fine too," he says as he tugs her boots off. "We'll get these off so you don't track mud into the bed and then you can rest just like that, alright?" _Send word around she's sleeping in and that no-one should even hint at having sex to her for a few days,_ he corrects his earlier words. _And if they don't like that, Bianca can have her turn at explaining things._

"Yeah, that sounds-- that sounds great," she stumbles, blearily, through her words. "I'm glad I have a dog instead of a cat," she says, as she nestles her head into the pillow. "Dogs are great."

"...Silence and Beka would be thrilled to know that," he says carefully as he helps her into place. Pulling a sheet over her, he gently brushes her forehead. "Rest now, Hawke. I'll keep watch."

"Good," she mumbles, wriggling herself into a comfortable position. "Wake me if..."

She never finishes the thought, as sleep rises to claim her.

~*~

It's a good fourteen hours before she wakes up, putting her late for breakfast -- not that Varric minds all that much, given she's gotten a very good night's sleep. She doesn't comb her hair in her haste to get to the table and get real food in her, even if it's burnt porridge. She does change clothes, at least, dressing in her leathers but leaving off her armor.

Varric is actually sulking a little when she reaches the kitchen. He's stubbornly eating his _flavor-enhanced_ , dwarven style porridge and not looking at the rest of the table.

Which is rather full. There's Aveline's breakfast scramble: grated potatoes, whatever diced veggies are on hand, salted pork, eggs, and a handful of flour mixed well and baked solid, then given a quick grill on a greased pan. Two small loaves of fresh baked pumpkin bread with little smilie faces on the top made with raisins, Merrill's current obsession. There's even a bottle of fresh milk and probably apple juice, clearly from Zevran based on the rather phallic shape of the bottles. Where do you even get something like those? And finally, of course, a pot of tea.

Marian stops in the doorway, a smile blooming across her face. "What did you tell them, I was dying?" she asks, giddily, as she moves to the table.

"-grown adult, feed myself just fi- Hawke, you're up!" he says, turning in his seat. "What? Oh, just that you were finally back, and looking like you'd been taking double shifts on half-rations for a few days. Everyone stopped by this morning 'cept Flirts and Rosemary." Isabela being out of town again, though it's not supposed to be for long this time. "Just to check in on you and, for most of them, drop something off. There's a five gallon crock of stew in the cold box for dinner from Seli and some very lumpy biscuits from the twins. And 'Da Andy helps but only a liddle.' Got some mail too, but none of it looks urgent, think they're just thank-yous for previous meeting and such. You have a meeting tomorrow at noon, but nothing for today," he adds artlessly, not mentioning it's because Aveline and Zevran actually teamed up to handle her only to-do that couldn't be pushed back.

Hawke nods, taking a seat and serving herself hearty portions of just about everything. "Seli was a wonder, I dropped by on Caelday and she got me a tonic to keep me on my feet. That was... I'll tell you, I'm not looking forward to next spring, that's for sure."

Varric studies her a long moment. "You sure you're okay? You looked... pretty bad," he says carefully.

She smiles, cutting into the scramble. "I bounce back," she says, glibly. "I'm going to get her to warn me now about the next one, so I can prepare." She only hesitates a little as the doubts come flooding back. _You don't mean that. You love Rosemary. She's just... exasperating._

"Well... alright, Hawke. Merrill and Zevran were planning to come by tonight for dinner." The 'they missed you' goes unspoken. "And I think Aveline was planning on walking you to your meeting tomorrow, or she'll just met you there if she can't get here early enough. Evidently she wants to brief you on it."

Marian nods. "That's great. Ugh, I hope nobody's too mad I vanished for a week. No trouble while I was indisposed?"

"Moonbeam's a bit mopey, but Shadow's been keeping her busy. She... she's gotten inspired by some of the outfits the ladies at the Voice wear so... yeah, I'll be looking for another wand sometime soon I'm sure." He thinks a moment, then shrugs. "No trouble really. Other stuff... uh.... Lady Lawful got a citation, something about having the highest number of recruits retained for Coalside in decades or something? That was day before last. Oh, and Silence has learned how to unlock doors. Err, from the locked side, I mean. Even mabari can't pick locks... I hope."

Marian nods. _I'm... not really up for Zevran right now. Maybe I should be-- no, I shouldn't avoid them just because of this. I'll be sure to be here._ "Anything you need done today?"

"Your head clear enough to do some numbers? I wouldn't mind another set of eyes over the monthly yields," he says after a moment's thought.

"I would love nothing more," she says, tucking back into her food with renewed vigor.

_Yeah, she's 'fine'._

~*~

By dinner time, she's almost back to her usual self; she's openly bemoaning ever agreeing to help him while easily flying through the sums, whining about her eyes bleeding despite clearly enjoying herself. When the knock comes on the door, however, a shadow passes over her features -- just for an instant.

It's Merrill that gets to her first, moving to pull Hawke into a big ol' hug. Zevran strolls in after her, an easily smile on his lips and a small bag that smells strongly of spiced baked goods.

"Oh, it's so good to see you again. It was really weird to not see you when you're still in Nyra," Merrill comments. "Did you have fun? I hope Rosemary is well. Did you like the bread? You look much better, I'm glad you got some sleep. How are you?"

"I'm fine," she says, with a small laugh -- though she pulls away from Merrill's hug a little sooner than she usually would. "Rosemary's sleeping, probably. I'm sure she'll turn up sooner or later."

The elf looks a little disappointed about the shortness of the hug but parts readily enough. "Did you hear about Aveline's award thing? She looked very dashing. Oh, and the anniversary party went splendidly! You won't believe who showed up!"

Zevran, eyes knowing, merely strokes Hawke's forearm and blows a kiss. He does look _very_ smug at Merrill's comment. "Spiced rum cookies, for after dinner," he says in passing as he sets the bag on the counter nearby.

"Oh? Anyone I know?" she asks, flashing Zevran a warm smile.

"Oh, I think you _may_ have heard of him... once or twice... in passing perhaps," he says airily.

Merrill giggles wildly as she starts to make some tea- wonder where she picked up that habit... "Zevran had a foursome with the Hand person!"

"The ha-- Lord zi'Pannis?! Leader of the Guiding Lights, most eligible bachelor in Nyra? Surely not!" she demands, eyes widening with shock, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Zevran smiles lazily as he leans against the counter, brushing at his shirt nonchalantly. "Zevran, you wicked scamp! You've outdone yourself." She doesn't sound mad in the slightest; she sounds honestly impressed.

"I admit no superior in the bedroom, but I will allow that he is perhaps my equal," he says with a satisfied smile. "A bit...aggressive, perhaps, and, ah, a biter," he adds, rubbing his neck near the shoulder, "but then, I rather enjoy such so I have no complaints. Poor Luz claims to be ruined for other men, but I doubt that shall last the week."

Her smile dims slightly. "Well, at least you have bragging rights forever," she says, her tone a bit artificial.

Zevran shrugs a little. "Perhaps among friends, but I would not wish to offend such a powerful figure by speaking out of turn. He is said to be very personable and fair- and while it was only an evening, my experience bears that out- but it would be a fool's choice to take such a chance for petty reasons, no?" He gives her a look then, his expression clearly showing he noticed her reaction and is asking if she is already without worrying Merrill.

"I got to see him dance with Dominque, before they went upstairs- he's marvelous!" Merrill adds, staring intently at the teapot. Wynne had trotted out that old expression recently and the elf had made it a point to study the effect. So far, she's leaning towards watching the teapot actually making it _faster_ to boil, though she's still working on getting Zevran to try it as a non-magical control.

"That's awesome, Merrill. I wish I could have gone," she laments, shifting a little. Zevran would likely note she's wearing a high-collared leather coat, which is not all that unusual, but might bear noticing today.

"Oh, well, maybe next year?" Merrill says without looking away from the kettle.

Zevran studies her a moment, lips pursed. Glancing back at the shaman, he moves closer so he can whisper, "do you need healing or can it wait for Aveline tomorrow, before your meeting?"

Marian blushes faintly. "It can wait," she whispers back. "Thanks."

Nodding, he smiles. Louder, he asks, "so what did you think of the wine bottles I sent over? Too much? I'm thinking of ordering some for Voice but..."

She laughs. "I think Varric almost went cross-eyed trying not to notice them in front of me. Where did you find them?"

Smalltalk ensues; somehow, Marian ends up across from Zevran at the table for dinner, between Merrill and Varric. Slightly closer to Varric. It's afterward, when they adjourn to the parlor for a cleansing mint tea, that trouble begins; as Merrill cuddles up to Marian, she jumps up from her seat, moving to the bookshelf.

"Oh, I forgot, I had this new storybook I wanted to read to you from," she says, almost smoothly. When she takes the book, however, she moves to sit in the armchair instead of her usual spot on the sofa.

Merrill frowns a little, looking at Hawke and then back at the spot next to her. "Is... is something wrong?" she asks softly, looking a little hurt but more worried.

"I-- no, I just," the hero stammers, looking down at the book. "I love you?" she offers.

"I love you too but you're acting kind of weird," she replies matter of factly.

Zevran winces a little and tosses Hawke an apologetic look. "Hawke is perhaps still a bit oversensitive to touch, much like how you to not like to be touched in certain areas after [achieving completion]."

Hawke nods. "Yeah, I... I just don't feel up to cuddling today. I'm sorry. It's been a long week." She shoots Zevran a grateful smile, trying to get across that she doesn't hold it against him.

"Oh," Merrill says softly, her expression a little conflicted. Finally, she asks, "do... do you know when we can cuddle?" She looks a little guilty, "I don't mean to.. pressure you, I just..."

Hawke winces, closing the book again. "Merrill... You know what, I can try." She gets to her feet.

Now the elf looks miserable. She really does want to cuddle but... "It's alright, Hawke," she says softly, but firmly. "I can wait."

Before Hawke can get any close, Zevran slips into the spot next to Merrill. "I am perfectly happy to fill in," he says, doing a fairly decently imitation of Hawke's voice.

Hawke looks down for a moment, then forces herself to laugh. _I owe Zevran a new sex toy for this. Or I would, if he wasn't Clan._ She sits back down, smiling at the pair of them. "You two are so perfect together."

Merrill blinks. "Only because you're with us. Even if you're over there," she says warmly. "You're still with us."

"I don't know about that," the merikos elf says, with a smile. "You're adorable, and Zevran is amazing. The two of you together are both amazing and adorable."

"I am amazing," Zevran says brightly. "But you are astounding. So we are amazingly, astoundingly adorable!"

Marian smiles. "Shall I read an astounding story?"

"That sounds really nice," Merrill says happily. "Does this book have talking animals?"

"No, but it has a talking tree who loves a little boy." So saying, Marian begins to read.

~*~

As the evening winds toward a close, Hawke offers to walk them back to Wynne's place. As they get close, her steps slow. "I should go home," she says, hesitantly, with a sidelong glance at Zevran. There's a question in her eyes, one she's not quite sure how to ask.

"I will be rather busy cleaning up for most of tomorrow, but I should be able to come by for dinner again if you like," he says gently, Merrill leaning against him sleepily.

"Do you... want to walk home with me? Maybe spend the night? I... assume Rosemary has left, but I'm not actually sure."

"I'd be happy to walk you home of course," he says, "but I had assumed you'd wish to simply enjoy having a bed to yourself tonight?"

"I..." She hesitates, chewing her lower lip. "Yes and no. Your presence is... comforting. But I am not... Zevran, I can't..."

He glances down at Merrill, who is drowsing against him. "I... had planned to stay with Merrill tonight... would you care to join us both? We had a rather passionate afternoon, so she's probably going to nod off... a few minutes ago, actually."

"No, it's-- it's fine. Stay with her. I'll be alright." She smiles, running a hand through her hair. "If she's there, I'll just kick her out."

"Help me put her to bed then," he replies. "As I said, she's already mostly asleep so she will not mind."

"Alright," Hawke says, with a fond smile at Merrill. "I can do that."

Merrill indeed, basically a sleepy ragdoll, allowing Zevran to quickly and efficiently strip her for bed. With a quick goodbye to Bob, the pair are on their way. After they're a few blocks away, he glances at her. "So..."

The half-elf sighs. "So if Rosemary doesn't want to leave, I'm going to need help making her."

Her lover gives her a carefully neutral look. "What kind of doesn't want and what kind of help?" he asks, voice just a little too soft.

"I don't know. I'm not sure it'll actually be a problem. But... I won't want to hurt her." Left unsaid is the, _you might have an easier time doing so if it comes to that._

"Marian, I must confess I am growing... concerned about the healthiness of your relationship with Rosemary." He pauses, wanting her full attention on him. "Did she hurt you, my love?"

"No." She denies it too quickly; she falls quiet for a moment, then amends her statement. _Honesty. Openness. Trust._ "Not badly. Not intentionally, as far as I can tell."

"Carelessly can wound just as deeply as cruelty," he says softly. "If she does not know better, then perhaps you can help her. If you wish, I would be happy to talk to her, with you or alone. But if she has done this to you with willful intent, then this is abuse. And hate me if you must, but I will not let you live through that unaided." _I will not let you live even a fraction of my hell._

She lowers her gaze, taking a deep breath. "I... thank you, Zevran. I was hoping I could count on you."

~*~

The rest of the walk to Hawke's house is mostly quiet. When they arrive, it seems Rosemary has left; the house is in disarray, blankets and pillows tossed carelessly anywhere you could reasonably lie down, and one pillow has been shredded, leaving feathers everywhere. But the house lacks an occupant, which seems to relieve Hawke. Zevran looks around, sniffing a little. The scent of sex and musk is very heavy in the air. "Was it... like this when you left?" he asks curiously.

Marian winces. "I.... had forgotten. I wasn't... in the best state when I left. But... I recall when that pillow was torn, when that vase was knocked over. So. I'm going to guess yes."

_So kind of her to leave all this mess for Hawke to clean up. It is not as if Hawke hadn't just devoted an entire week to her needs, opened her home and pushed herself past exhaustion or anything._ "Well, it's late. Shall we to bed then?" he says with an attempt at cheer.

Hawke sighs. "Yes. Let's." She pauses, then adds, in a smaller voice, "I suspect the sheets in my guest room are cleaner."

"Of course, my gentle hawk," he says softly, in Elven. He pauses, then reaches over to very lightly tap her nose with one finger. "I love you. I respect you. I admire and adore you. Please do not think less of yourself."

The half-elf nods, smiling faintly. "I love you too. I swear, I'm not... I know I'm kind of in my head right now, but I'm not thinking bad things about myself. I'm tired, and a little embarrassed I forgot the house was this bad before I invited you over, but this is on Rosemary. She needed to warn me sooner so I could prepare tonics and food."

She takes his hand, leading him to the guest room. She does stop off and dig out the floor-length nightgown Varric bought her for Solstice a few years back. She doesn't hide her body from him as she changes; she's covered in small bruises, healing cuts, hickies, and the faint impression of canine teeth, particularly around the nipple area.

Zevran watches her from across the room, careful to give her space. "I say first that I will not, even should you beg, have sex with you tonight. With that in mind, do you want me to apply a salve or even just a massage?" His tone is even and brisk, sounding most similar to how he talks in combat than any other of his common tones.

She freezes for a second, tense, but relaxes as he moves into the second sentence. For a moment, her brain tries to tell her that it's because she's ugly, she's marked, she's not good enough, but she pushes that away. _Zevran would have sex with a troll. He's being careful of me because I'm injured._ "I have some salve left over, I think, in the bathroom? I'd love if you could help with that."

Zevran nods slowly. He's stripped as well, but has put on a pair of loose cotton pants. Aveline's, actually, though it's doubtful she'd mind in this case. He slips on a robe as well before heading to the bathroom to find the salve. "Sweet Seline?" he asks as he holds up the salve.

"That's the one. Seli bought it for me." She sounds relieved; she sits on the bed, nightgown in hand, as she waits for him to return.

Zevran nears the bed, the robe tired tightly around the waist and pants still on. "Alright, how do you wish to have this done? I shall do and touch nothing without your command, my lady. Tonight, you may consider me as if your very own hands."

Hawke smiles, tired. "It's fine. I'm fine. I'm just... Here, I'll lay down so you can reach." She turns, laying on her stomach on the bed, her chin on her arms. "I mostly want help with the salve, then we can sleep."

"Where would you like me to start? And is there anywhere you would prefer to get yourself?" he asks, voice still gentle and serious.

Marian thinks about it for a long moment, considering her options. "No," she says finally. "I can skip my... chafing... for tonight. I'm more concerned about the outer marks, since... well, my clothes irritate."

Zevran takes a deep breath that he tries to hide from her. This... this is bringing back some very dark memories. He has seen far too many backs, female and male, adult and even child, with marks as bad or worse than those in his lifetime. _She is fine. She is well. She is safe and you will not ever let anyone hurt her like that._ "Alright, I am about to start on her back," he says softly, giving her a moment to object, before following through.

Hawke breathes slowly -- in through her nose, out through her mouth. _This should be pleasurable. It's Zevran._ she tells herself, but she just can't see it as such, not tonight. _I must be more tired than I thought._

What it is, however, is soothing. Her eyes begin to drift closed, as she silently trusts Zevran. She knows, deep down in her soul, that he would never hurt her. That he will be gentle. Some part of her realizes, and rejects, the fact that she can't say the same for Rosemary.

He keeps his movements soft but never lingers. He is gentle, but he takes care to never caress. He finishes her back and, after getting a murmured agreement, moves to go her legs and arms. By then, she's drifted off.

Rising, he heads to the bathroom to wash his hands, then out to the living room. He looks around, shaking his head. This is going to be a bit of work, but the last thing she needs in the morning is having to see this again. Wandering around on silent feet, he looks over the rest of the house, ending in Hawke's bedroom. _Here first_ , he decides, heading to the window to try and get some fresh air moving in. _Strip the bed, gather up anything broken and then revaluate._ Humming softly, he gets to work.

~*~

Having fallen asleep in the chair in the guest room -- the better to keep watch on Hawke, but not wanting to climb into bed with her, not after that -- he is awakened in the middle of the night. At first, it's unclear what woke him, until he hears it again: a soft, choking sob, tears of desperation kept muffled and hidden by a pillow. He's on his feet in an instant, eyes darting around. Room is empty. _No threats._ Sobbing? _Hawke._ Hurt? _No blood. Heart pain. Rape._ Nightmares? _Unknown. Find out._

Kneeling on the ground at that edge of the bed, he purposely makes his knee thump on the floor. "Hawke? Are you awake?"

The sobs cut off abruptly, as soon as his knee hits the floor. She instantly regrets it -- _Honesty. Trust._ "Yes," she whispers, after a moment, then feels foolish for whispering. "Did I wake you?" she continues, with actual voice to her words instead of mere whispers.

"You were crying," he says simply. "What's wrong?" It's still the middle of the night, but the moonlight gives her elven eyes just enough to work with that she can see his face. See his too knowing eyes.

"I-- I'm fine," she says, ashamed. "I just... remembered some things. That's all."

_Remembered pleading for her to let me sleep, to leave me be. Remembered begging her to let me go to see Seli, and having to sneak out after she fell asleep anyway._

She chokes, coughing a little to hide the sob welling up in her breast. _She didn't mean to. I'm sure she feels just as bad about it._

"It is not weakness to admit she hurt you," he says softly. "I... I have perhaps not used the word, but you know I have been abused, emotionally and sexually, that I have been raped with force, with drugs, with conditioning and... many ways. And you love me still. Respect me still. I will do no less." He doesn't try to move closer, doesn't reach for her. He just watches her and speaks.

_Raped--_ "It's not like that," she whispers, fervently. "This was nothing like what happened to you. I just.. things just got out of hand. I'll be more prepared next spring."

_She woke to a hand on her chest, toying with her nipple, and tears on her cheeks. 'Please,' she whispered. 'Not now. I just got to sleep.' The hand pulled back for a moment; blue eyes met her own, cold, dispassionate. 'But I need you,' she'd said, and covered Marian's objections with a kiss. Marian closed her eyes, tried to leave her body. She was just so tired. She just wanted a good night's sleep._

Zevran smiles at her softly, eyes sad. "The worst ways were never with club and chain, but when I was... forced to give consent by poisoned-honey words and uncaring eyes. When it was not that they hurt me until I could not fight them off, but when they simply did not care I did not wish to give of myself. At least when they hurt me, it was easier to tell myself I did not want it. That it was wrong, what they did." He had his head bowed during this, but he forces his eyes up to hers for this. "Rape is not when rejection is ignored. Rape is when consent is not freely, knowingly offered."

_When they did not care._

_Uncaring blue eyes._

Marian's breath catches in her throat, and the tears begin again in earnest. "I'm so sorry that happened to you," she whispers, as a way to avoid the magnitude of her feelings, of what's happened.

"Do you think less of me for it? For even enjoying some of it at times, even when it made me feel an object? Filthy and damaged?" He asks, voice growing a little rough as he makes himself say the things he's felt. Say the things that he has always, in some small dark and broken part of him, worried about even after loving his hawk and flower for years now. For her, for the voice in his darkness, he can say them.

"No," she says, right away. "Zevran, nothing could make me think less of you." She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "What happened to you was different than what happened to me." _Implying something **happened** to me. No, don't fret about it now._

"In scope, in duration, in... degree.. yes. But what was done to you... my regal hawk..." He shakes his head. "I have seen dozens, scores, _hundreds_ of people suffering from rape. I... for much of that time, I was to... I was not able to help. Some of that time, I was unwilling to help. But I know what those eyes mean. And this time I _will_ help."

_Rape._ She lifts her head from the pillow, rolls onto her side to face him properly. "Zevran, I agreed to this. I consented."

"My mouth often gave consent as well," Zevran says gently. "Sometimes I was, in fact, willing in my heart. But that was still rape, because I would have been taken anyway. Forcing me to agree, with threats of pain, with coaxing promises of privilege... even by making me feel that I owed them this, owed them my body, for the food they gave me, for the privilege of having clothes or a bed for a night, for being such a _kind_ and _loving_ master-- all of that was just a game to them. I never had a real choice, so any 'consent' I gave was false." He takes a deep breath, needing a second to push back memories and focus on her. "Did you never ask for a moment? Never try to... take a rest or... beg off for a time? Did you happily consent each time?" He cannot know, but based on her aversion to touch, her almost sickened look a the idea of sex and her sheer exhaustion... he can guess.

"I wasn't a slave, I could have just... just walked away. Just left."

_You would politely ask Mileen herself to wait a moment to come to our aid if you even thought it might **become** needed._

_Some pale imitation walking around in your shell._

She takes a deep breath, shaking her head. "no. I couldn't, could I?"

"I fought my love for you and Merrill for a long time." He confesses, the admission something he'd tried very hard to keep private. "Even.. even after I accepted the thought, said the words, I... I was afraid they would be just another set of chains." He grimaces, unable to force the smile he'd wanted. "There is a reason why I was and am so patient and understanding with ma'bela. I understand very well how she feels. Love can be chains, just like anything else, if it is not returned." He's fidgeting now, clearly wary of having revealed his doubts, even if he's phrased them as being in the past. Even now, a part of him is afraid of being used or discarded, thought that part weakens and shrinks every day.

"She loves me," says Marian, softly. A moment passes, a few heartbeats. "...doesn't she?"

"I am not Wynne, to read minds, nor a god, to know hearts, but... I have not seen much that would... make me think so," he says as gently as he can. "Anders, even before, had... moments, when he would look at you with soft eyes. When he would smile as you spoke. I have seen no such things with Rosemary. Has... has she said she does?"

"Yes. Once or twice." She hesitates. "She... enjoys my company. She can hardly get enough of me. That's the problem."

"That sounds as much obsession as love," he points out. "There are no debts among Clan but... has she ever done something for you? Put you first, in a significant way?"

"She is a cat," she points out. "Cats aren't... Cats don't spend time around people they don't like, but they don't go out of their way for anyone."

"She is a _person_ ," he says bluntly. "What is acceptable for a pet is not acceptable behavior for a friend, much less a lover."

"Their culture is just different," she protests, weakly.

"And perhaps that is fine, for them and for those that wish to enter that culture. But that does _not_ mean you must be willing to do so. It is not fair on you, that only you adjust to her, that you are the only one to.... grow and change to make things work." He considers pointing out that drow could could be justified with the same excuse but decides that he does not wish to run afoul of Drizzt's Law in such a serious conversation.

Marian sighs. "I know. I know this isn't fair to me. I plan to... I want to talk to her, when she comes back. I'm sure she'll be horrified to realize what she's done. I'm sure we can work out a better plan now, so that we're prepared next spring."

"That is not unreasonable," he says slowly. "But may I be there? When you have this talk? You are... sometimes a bit too kind, too willing to look past the faults of those you care for," he says hesitantly. "And while I cannot say I mind entirely, given how I have benefited from this blindness of yours," for an instant his gaze flicks away from her eyes to stab at his dusky hands, "I worry you might allow yourself to be hurt again."

She hesitates. "Don't... You can, but please don't hurt her. Please don't throw around the r-word. She... can be sensitive, and I know she doesn't... she wishes she could have me to herself."

His eyes harden, just for a second, but he nods. "I will not attack, merely defend you or myself, should she move to the physical." He pauses, then concedes, "and I will not kill or cripple her even then."

She flinches, looking away from him. "Sorry. After.. After Anders, I..."

"I do not blame you for asking that," he assures her quickly, then winces. "My... I was... I love what we have made, not just our triad, but the whole of it: our Clan. It is... more than I ever could have dreamed of having, even as a child. The idea of something- some _one_ taking the heart of our Clan from us out of jealousy or avarice upsets me. It was just a passing emotion, nothing I would act on."

"Nobody is going to steal my heart away, Zevran," she whispers. "It belongs to Merrill and to you and to Varric and to Aveline and to Wynne. Forever."

"Your heart is your own," he corrects. "You may have given us each a piece of it, but it remains your own." He smile then, a shyer, younger smile than his norm. "But that piece of your heart rests alongside our flower's as the greatest gifts I have even seen."

She reaches up then, stroking his hand, enmeshing her fingers into it. "You are a great gift, my cherished one." _This must be hard for him_ , she finally realizes, her brain summing up the nagging signals it's been ignoring over the past ten minutes. "Thank you. If we had debts, mine to you would be insurmountable."

"I cannot begin to fathom how you have come to that conclusion, my daft little hawk," he says, humor returning to his face and voice.

"How many times have you rescued my heart now?" she asks, quietly. "You have suffered so much, and yet time and time again, you are the one showing me the way home."

"I can only show you what you have taught me," he says softly. "You and Merrill have been the source, the wellspring, of all that is love and joy in this new life of mine. You even brought ma'bela back into my life, all unknowing." He starts to move forward, but checks himself, playing it off as just shifting his weight. "Every day I have of being free, every kind smile and loving touch... it all started with you. Not just for freeing me from that shack, but for keeping me. For allowing me to stay in your life, in your bed and in your heart. I... had thought I would be simply a moment's fancy, keep around for a week or two until you and our flower grew tired of me and, politely, kindly or cruelly, sent me away. But you did not. You invited me into your homes again and again, not just for sex but for me. That is..." he shakes his head in wonder. "more than anything to a slave, a lost boy with too dark skin, a cast-off son and brother."

The tears return -- but she doesn't hate them nearly so much when she sheds them for someone else. "You are a treasure, Zevran. You are a shining jewel in the night. Again and again I am amazed by your kindness, your tenderness, your understanding. It is no hardship to keep you -- it is the only sensible thing I could do after meeting you. I can't imagine my life without having met you." She would normally say 'without you', but she catches herself before she does -- he can leave, if he likes. She would miss him and regret his absence. But it would be imaginable -- unlike who she would have been if he wasn't there to catch her.

_I can imagine mine, as short as it likely would have been, had I not met you,_ he thinks darkly. He'd been losing himself more and more. No, it was not himself that was being lost, but his ability to keep that self safe without revealing it. A year more at most, and he'd have either had to break for good or finally make a true and honest attempt at escaping, one way or another. But that is not something he is ready to admit, even to Hawke, at least not yet.

"You speak the words in my heart as if you had read them with your touch," he says softly instead. "Even when I doubt my worth, I can hear your voice in my heart, telling me what I am to you." He smiles then, a little crookedly. "But it is late, and as much as I would enjoy spending hours praising my personal goddess of valour and devotion, we both need our rest."

She runs her thumb over his cheek before letting him go. "Yes... unfortunately. But you will be here in the morning?"

He leans into her touch, just a little, and then rises to return to the armchair. "I shall. I don't need to go in until eleven," which means she'd only be alone for ten minutes at most until Aveline shows up to escort her to the meeting with Lord Vandlion about hosting a charity ball for her clinics. "Sleep now, my love. The morning will be here all too soon."

~*~

And indeed, morning does come earlier than they both might wish. Rising at a little before seven, Zevran slips out ot the kitchen as Hawke staggers into the bathroom to shower. Which... is a bit cleaner than she thought it would be. Once she's done, she emerges to the scent of tea and frying meat; Zevran never tires of having the privilege of eating meat and consistently picks that over anything else despite his elven blood.

She also finds a much cleaner bedroom than last night. Cooler as well, as the window is somehow been left open, but the air much cleaner, lighter. Her bedding has been stripped off, if not replaced, and the floor has been picked up. Swept too, as the scattered shreds of clothing and the shards of the lamp are gone. It's not back to rights, but... it's no longer so very obvious what happened here.

Marian smiles fondly as she heads for the kitchen. "My love," she greets him in Elven, moving to kiss his cheek.

He smiles at her, looking a touch sleepy but pleased to see her smiling. "Good morning, my love. The tea is ready, but this will take a moment longer to finish. Feel better after your shower?"

"So much better," she replies. "I feel practically sentient again."

Zevran chuckles. "Do you have any bread or fried dough?"

She shakes her head. "No, I think I used up the bread."

"Then fried sausages and and some eggs our breakfast shall be," he says easily. "Do you wish to eat inside or in the garden?"

She glances outside at the window. "The garden might be ni--" She cuts off mid-word, as they both hear a subtle sound: the front door creaking open. A moment later, they hear a familiar voice as its owner pads into the kitchen.

"Something smells nice," yawns Rosemary, a housekey dangling from one claw.

"Thank you," Zevran says politely, eying the mount of food in the pan. "It will be a bit tight for three, alas, as the food stores are rather depleted. Still, there is plenty of tea if you wish"

"Good morning," says Marian, her voice a little tight, as she switches back to Common. "I hope you got home alright?"

"I did, thank you." Rosemary heads for the cupboard to get out teacups. If she notices Marian's stiffness, she doesn't comment; she gets out the cups, bringing them to the table.

"You seem well," Zevran comments lightly, "We've six eggs, so that's two each, no? Do you prefer scrambled or fried?"

"Fried," she says, moving to pour the tea. Marian gets out silverware, moving to set the table to keep her hands busy. Zevran murmurs an acknowledgement as he busies himself with cooking. He's careful to always keep an eye on both females.

After a bit, Marian sits down; Rosemary pulls her chair over next to her lover, draping an arm around Marian's shoulders. The elf stiffens, freezing up for a moment before she says, quietly, "Please don't."

Rosemary shifts a bit, resting her head on Marian's shoulder. "I missed you."

"Hawke, a hand please?" Zevran asks a scant few seconds later. "The sausages, if you could."

Marian jumps up, letting Rosemary slip a little before the feline rights herself with a pout. She heads for the stove, going to poke at the sausages. "Thanks," she whispers, in Elven.

"Thank you," the former assassin says brightly. "Eggs never scramble properly if you stop before pouring," he says in a faux-fussy tone. "Did you want salt or pepper in them Hawke?"

"Pepper," she replies, turning two of the sausages.

Rosemary leans her head onto her crossed arms, tail drifting lazily from side to side as she watches them together. "Did you miss me?" she asks, after a moment.

Marian takes a deep breath. "No," she says, after a moment. "I hoped you'd be back. It was so little time I barely took note of it."

"You certainly had a fun week," Rosemary tries, after an odd pause.

"Not--" She winces, changing tactics. "It was exhausting, I needed my rest."

"Ah. You are not built for the strain." She sounds almost apologetic.

"Right, exactly," replies Hawke, relief evident. "Next spring, we'll need a better plan ahead of time."

Rosemary's shoulders slump a bit, the first real sign of tension going out of her. "Yes," she purrs.

"Indeed. Even with tonics and salve, our Hawke was rather ill-used," Zevran remarks blandly, as he pours the first four eggs, neatly scrambled, into the pan. "If you had had them from the start, it might have gone better but even then, it is rather much."

"It wasn't that bad." Rosemary says, disdainfully.

"It was," says Marian quietly.

"Oh, really. You elves are always so prudish."

"Then perhaps you should not have asked an elf for help, if we are so lacking," Zevran remarks as he carefully flips the eggs.

"Who else would I ask?" Rosemary's tail lashes to the side. "I have no-one."

Hawke sighs. "You're welcome," she says, forcing some cheer into her voice.

"Perhaps, for next time, we could invest in some magic?"

"Something stronger than a tonic, you mean?" asks Hawke, actually brightening slightly.

"So that I may become pregnant." Rosemary corrects.

Zevran slides the first batch of eggs into a plate, cuts it in half and shifts half to another plate. "I am curious- I know I only speak the three languages, so perhaps it is simply me misunderstanding. But are you both having the same conversation?" As he asks, he cracks the last two eggs to begin frying. "Salt, pepper for your eggs?"

"Yes," says Rosemary.

"Rosemary, it's not that I'm not in love with you, but I don't know that I'm ready for that sort of commitment."

"You would deny me this?" She actually sounds hurt.

"It's just, a baby is a big responsibility--"

"Which I am ready for." Her voice holds a hint of growl. "It is time and past I had my own kit, and I wanted to honor you by sharing this with you." She knows she's expected to raise the kit alone; this is common among her tribe, where one parent clains the kit at birth and they never know who their other parent was. But she wants desperately something to remember her lover by, when eventually Hawke grows tired of her and leaves her.

"Nobody's having my baby without my at least running it past the rest of the Clan," sighs Hawke.

"Are you so joined at the hip to your precious clan that you cannot make decisions without them?"

"Hawke is free to make her own choices, independent of anyone -- including you," Zevran says softly. "If she does not wish to have a child, now or ever, then you have no right to shame and guilt her into doing so."

Rosemary actually hisses at him. "Fine. When you leave me, I will be alone as well as abandoned." She stands, turning away from Hawke.

"Wait," Marian says, turning away from the stove.

"I have _tried_ , Hawke. But at every turn you chase me away."

"Bullshit," Zevran says cheerfully. "She just spent an entire week letting you use her like a dildo, and a cheap disposable one at that, and you did not even so much as thank her for it."

"And now you blame me for my biology?!"

"Rosemary." sighs Hawke. "Of course not. But I do need to rest. It was hard on me. And I'm not in any shape to be making decisions right now."

Rosemary wilts, her ears drooping. "Fine. You know where to find me." She starts for the door, and Hawke watches her go, running a hand through her hair.

"The Pit of Abusive Bitches, perhaps?" Zevran mutters, in Auran so as not to be understood by the feline. In Common, he adds, "No, I blame you for not caring about her biology. Half-elves cannot keep up with a heat. You. Hurt. Her. Badly. If she gave a truthful accounting of the last week to a guard, you would be in chains by day's end, facing rape charges most like. Sexual coercion at the least."

That stops her, and she turns, showing fang to him. "You lie," she hisses in her native language, clearly overcome with emotion.

Hawke puts a hand out to press against Zevran's chest. "Both of you, calm down. That's not... the most accurate statement ever, but it's not entirely inaccurate."

"You cannot have both ways," growls Rosemary, her accent thicker as she stumbles through Common. "Who do you choose?"

"I have no issue with her being with you, provided you do not hurt her again as you have. Being in heat is no different than being taken by drink. You are still yourself, still a person with a mind. If you hurt someone, you are to blame. She told you no. She wanted to stop, at least for a time. And you ignored her. If I did the same to you, ignored your 'no,' what would you call it then?" He is guessing, a little, about some of Hawke's actions during the heat, but it suspects he is not far off.

Hawke hasn't so much as breathed since Rosemary's ultimatum. _Him or me? Zevran. Always, always Zevran. What's wrong with me? I never used to rank my loves. I always said I can never choose, that everyone is unique. Am I broken? Did I change when I came back from death? Is my ability to love tarnished? I can't do that to Zevran, not after how kind he's been. I'm not saying anything. What do I say that doesn't give me away?_

"She never!" Rosemary hisses. "My Hawke loves sex. She is always asking for more than I can give."

Hawke's mind catches up with Rosemary's words. "Is that what this is about?! My-- did you think this would make me happy?"

"It's no secret you favor him. But now I have given you better than he."

"That was not better." Hawke's voice is flat.

"You don't need him anymore," the feline purrs.

Zevran cuts in, here. "What you gave her, no, what you _did_ to her is something I would never do! It is the last thing I would-- never that!" He shouts, deeply offended. His fists tighten at his sides and he glares at her with loathing. "I would never," he repeats more softly. "I would die before I so much as touched her, even for a second, as you did. As you used her. And for what? To win some contest, some race, only you cared about? I pity you, if that was what you think of love."

Rosemary hisses, taking a step toward Zevran. "My Hawke would--"

Then Hawke is between them, her open hand curled slightly as she raises it high, her eyes like ice boring into Rosemary's mind.

**"Leave."**

Her volume is low, but there's nothing soft about her word. Rosemary falters, looking at Hawke's hand, incredulously.

"You wouldn't!"

"I'm not a nice person, Rosemary." The Champion's tone is dark, flat. "Do you want to find out how cold I can be?"

Rosemary stares at her a moment longer, dumbfounded.

Hawke continues: "Leave. Now. The next time I see you, may the gods have mercy on you. I won't."

That breaks her bravado; Rosemary turns and runs, fur puffing out in anger and humiliation as she flees.

Zevran stills, his eyes slowly tracking to Hawke. He is quiet a moment, then, voice very soft, very gentle, he asks in Elven, "Would you like me to go as well? Or to fetch someone?" He does move anything except his eyes and what he must to speak.

As Zevran speaks, it seems to break the spell; Marian's shoulders slump, her hand falling to her side. A moment later, she turns toward him, her eyes full of tears. "Sorry, I'm so sorry, I--"

Zevran still doesn't move, though his body seems to... almost tense in her direction somehow. "My l-" A beat. "Hawke, tell me what you wish of me. Do you want to be alone? To get Merrill or Aveline or Varric?"

"Varric," she stammers out, wiping at her tears frantically. "Get-- no, bring me, get me to Varric," she says, taking a step toward Zevran. _Stop it, stop crying, he won't-- you can't go out like this._

"Alright, we'll go to Varric, he's at his office right now," Zevran says soothingly. "Tell me how I can help you. Do you need anything? Do you need your staff or... any other help to get there?" He yearns to take her arm, to hold her close, but he is even more afraid to touch her right now. Afraid to even ask it, for fear she will consent out of guilt or confusion. Even more afraid she will refuse him out of hate.

"Staff, my staff." She chokes back a deep sob. "Cloak." She turns toward the coathook, forgetting that she'd left her cloak in the guestroom.

"Guestroom," he calls out to her, bolting towards her room to fetch her staff.

She fumbles her way toward the guestroom, pulling the cloak on and pulling the hood up to hide her tears. If she can keep her mouth closed, breathing through her nose, she- yes, good enough, she can hide her tears. She slips the rest of the salve into her pocket, heading back out to find Zevran.

Hawke takes her staff from him, and -- surprisingly -- once they leave the house, she moves closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. It's partly to hide her face, but partly... she draws some small comfort from his warmth.

The half-drow freezes at the touch, his gaze snapping down at her. "Are you... how much touch can you tolerate right now?" he finally just asks.

"Please, put your arm around my shoulders?" she asks, quietly.

He does so, slipping one arm around her, careful to keep it loose and his hand away from her breast. "Alright, there we go. His office is not more than ten minutes, a bit less as it should not yet be crowded at all," he says gently.

Marian nods against his chest, letting his arm protect her as they walk. She doesn't pull away until she recognizes Varric's office; she whispers, "Thank you, my love," and pulls free, moving to rap on the door with her staff before she fumbles with the doorknob. Even the few steps he'll cross toward the door before she can get it open would help, she thinks. Tears are still streaming down her face as she pushes the door open, looking up for her papa.

He'd been crossing his office, needing to grab a book of trade laws for Tinsin, when she'd knocked. The sound, of a heavy staff hitting wood, is one that he rather associates with one person, even if the sound today is a little less robust than the norm. Setting the book on his desk, he turns to greet her when as the door opens.

Spotting the tears, seeing Zevran's look of desperation and torment, he doesn't hesitate to rush to her, arms open. The half-drow doesn't try to resist or interfere, deftly slipping away so Hawke can get to the person she needs most.

Hawke drops her staff and falls to one knee, throwing her arms around Varric. Her sobs include a few incoherent syllables, though he manages to pick out "Rosemary", "Rape", and "[Papa]".

Varric chokes it down, burying his instant need to kill someone-- a _certain_ someone-- and holds his girl. He glares at Zevran over her head; the half-drow stares back, helplessly. After a moment, he slowly moves to pick the staff up and close the door behind them.

The sobs subside after a while, leaving her trembling a little in his arms, but able to speak. "I dumped Rosemary," she says, when she feels up to sentences. Her voice hiccups in the middle of Rosemary's name, forcing her to stumble over the word, but the words are audible at least.

"How deep?" Varric says, voice a growl.

"Wh-what?" she asks, pulling back. "No," she protests, as her brain catches up. "No, she's-- I told her-- Gods, I was horrible to her," she chokes out.

"I am with your father, personally," Zevran says from across the room, voice failing badly at being humorous.

"Hawke, you said she-- that she-- there's no words that can begin to not be justified if she did that," Varric says firmly. Shadow might be an oversexed flirt and a bit of a teasing ass, but Varric has the utmost confidence in his judgment of this sort of thing. If he's acknowledging it as rape, then it was gods-be-damned rape.

"It wasn't-- she didn't--" she chokes out, rubbing at her eyes. "I-- she hurt me," she whimpers. _I can admit that much._

"It'll be alright," he says softly, sticking to Common out of respect for Zevran. _Or wait, actually, we all speak Elven here,_ he thinks, as he changes languages. "You're strong. And we're here for you. We'll get you through this."

"What was done to you, regardless of the name you give it, was horrible. Evil. But it doesn't not change your heart. It doesn't not taint you or make you lesser," Zevran croaks out. His own face is streaked with tears, though he's not made a sound. He learned to weep silently a very long time ago.

"I know," she whispers, in the same Elven. "I know. But-- my heart... Zevran, my heart is..." _I can't, I can't break his heart like that._

"It'll heal, daughter," Varric says softly. "It'll hurt, maybe for a long time, but it'll get better."

She shakes her head. _Openness_. "I'm... broken. Damaged. When I died, I must have-- have--" she chokes out.

"Hawke, you were checked out by nearly a dozen healers and sages, you're not broken," Varric says, a bit confused by her seemingly random words. "Why do you think that?"

"My heart--- I---" She takes a deep breath, swallowing down a bit of panic. "I love Zevran more than Rosemary."

_Okay? Good? Why is that--_ "[Daughter]... this isn't like Anders," the dwarf says gently. "There is nothing broken about not loving someone that-- that hurt you like--"

"Raped," Zevran cuts in, voice hard. "Call it what it is, do not cheapen her pain by dancing around it. Rosemary raped you, abused your kindness and broke your trust, all to win you for her alone, as if you were some kind of prize."

Varric hisses softly, arms tightening around Hawke at hearing it so bluntly. At having his concerns validated. "It's right," he says painfully. "It's right, to love him, to love yourself more than- than that [festering soul blemish]." Infernal's almost too good for her.

"I consented," she whispers, brokenly. "I wanted-- I wanted to help her. And she hurt me. How could she-- how could she do that?" Her voice has become a whimper. "How could she think I wanted that? How could she think I needed her to change for me? How could she ask me to choose?"

"You consented, yes. But you can _take that back_. Consent is not given once and thus forever. You can change your mind," Zevran says fiercely. "And... and she did not love you, Hawke. Just as Moe mislead our innocent flower, so did Rosemary lie to you-- and perhaps to herself-- in order to get what she wanted."

"I... I was hoping I was wrong, but... yeah. That's the read Wynne and I were getting. I didn't think.. I didn't think she was this... bad, I didn't--" Varric breaks off, guilt and regret in his voice.

"I..." _You can take that back._ Marian swallows, tightening her hold on Varric. "I asked her to let me rest, but she-- she was just so needy, all of the time. I asked her to be more gentle but she didn't, I asked her to let me sleep, I asked her to let me go see my friends, but she, I didn't want to hurt her when she needed me, so I let her..."

Zevran tenses, needing so badly to go to her, to them both: Rosemary to kill, bone by bone, whimper by whimper and his Hawke, the Voice in his Darkness, to hold and love, forever and always, and then just a little bit more. But he can't. Not yet. Not until _she_ asks, without prompting.

"Oh Hawke," Varric says softly, slowly rubbing her back. "I'm so, so sorry, [my daughter]." She flinches slightly as his hand brushes over a particularly deep sore. Varric stills instantly. "Hawke?" he asks, voice a question. _What happened? What do you need from me?_

"[Papa]?" she asks, pulling back to look at him. _Did I do something wrong?_

"You flinched," he says softly, studying her face. "Zevran, top drawer on the left. Wand with the silver blue handle," he says, causing the half-drow to burst into action.

She looks down. "Oh," she says, feeling distant, the action going on around her. _Varric is... afraid of hurting me? How did this.. how did I get here?_ "She hurt me," she says, faintly. "I have salve..."

"Using the wand is easier and quicker than salve," Varric says as Zevran slips the wand into his hand. The half-drow doesn't let go, though, eyes flicking to Hawke pointedly. "Err, unless you don't want the healing?" the dwarf asks belatedly, hiding a wince as the wand is released.

"There's... it's, a lot of..." Hawke pauses, conflicted.

_It can all go away. You can forget, some. You can dress without pain._

_Do you want to forget? Maybe the healing is--_

Her hand goes to her neck, and she turns, looking at Zevran. "Will you... tell me if it shows?" she asks, quietly, as she unties her cloak, letting it fall to the floor. Revealing two bite marks and the remains of a hickie that definitely show above her tunic.

"There is some, yes," he says quietly. "Do you details?" At her nod, he continues, "There are two bites, shallow but clear on your left arm and collar, and a..." _no mark from her can be called a love bruise_ "suction bruise on the right side of your neck. I think there is the tip of a claw mark at the edge of your right arm, but that is harder to see."

Marian nods, numbly. "Then-- and, I think, there are, on my arms, on my legs.. oh. Oh, Merrill will be..." She whimpers. "Yes. I think-- I think the healing. I don't want anyone else to-- I must have looked awful, I'm sorry, I should have remembered," this last to Zevran, as she looks at him with sorrowful eyes.

"Nothing she did makes you lesser," he repeats, voice firm. _It can't, it won't, I won't let it._ "Nothing she did could ever make you lesser."

Varric quietly taps her arm with the wand, muttering the activation phrase twice to be sure he got all he can help with. She's crying when he finishes, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I know, but... I can't imagine looking at Merrill's body with those marks. It would break my heart."

Zevran laughs harshly. "It is nothing compared to your pain. I am fine, my love. Seeing you whole and smiling will heal any pain of my own far better than you hiding it or-- or what have you."

"That should do it. For the physical stuff anyway," Varric says quietly. "Do... do you want to... go home? Wynne's? Aveline's? Voice? Or.. stay here... or...?"

She flinches at the first suggestion. "I never want to--" she whispers, vehemently, before she stops herself. "I want you. And I want Zevran. I just want to be with Clan now." She bows her head, wrapping her arms around her stomach. "I'm going to have to tell Aveline..." she whispers. "She's going to think I was so stupid..."

"I meant home-home," says Varric. "Meadows. And Aveline will not think you're stupid. Probably going to find the darkest, nastiest cell in Coalside for the [wither-hearted piece of offal] but she won't think you're stupid. Too forgiving, maybe, but we all already know that much long ago."

"Let Varric take you home. I will find Aveline, have her met you there, get Merrill and Wynne and we can all spend the day together. I.... I believe Merrill has found a new story book, this one about animal myths," he offers tentatively. "We can have tea and... you can read to us. Or perhaps Aveline might like a turn, she has a lovely voice as well."

_Aveline.... We were meant to go somewhere together, which appointment was that? The... Meeting with..._ "I had... An appointment... I think?"

"Just a meet-and-greet with a lord or something," Zevran says smoothly. "I will head there first with Aveline, inform him that... you've come down with a bit of an illness. He's an elderly man, and rather prudish, I can couch it just right to make him think it a 'woman's issue' and he won't ask anymore. He might be a little put off, but it will be nothing you cannot charm him past next week." _Or the week after, if need be._ He pauses then, before asking, "Would you also like me to get Seli? She... might be easier to talk to, perhaps?" Like Varric, their bond is not a sexual one, so perhaps...

"Seli.." her face crumples, but the tears don't come this time. "Yes. Bring Seli."


	5. "I want you to erase the memory of her."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tells her Clan about what happened with Rosemary so the healing can finally begin. Helene returns, with a new quest for Hawke.

Hawke has managed some semblance of normality by the time they reach Varric's home in Meadows. In part, that's helped by their stopoff along the way; as they enter, she carries a large box with a dozen chocolate-covered pastries from the local baker, one of her favorite treats. She hadn't actually managed to eat the breakfast Zevran had been making when Rosemary showed up, so the bun she snacked on while walking helped tremendously with righting her sense of self.

Zevran and Aveline are the last to arrive, having detoured to give Hawke's apologies about the missed meeting. He's gotten Seli first, biting out a very clipped explanation, then sent her on her way before grabbing Aveline, whom he had only explained things once they were almost to Varric's- she's not as good an actor as he, and the noble doesn't need to know anything is wrong. Merrill and Wynne had been home of course, and had come over quickly at Varric's quick knock and shout of 'Clan met-up at my place' but neither had gotten an explanation. Both had noticed that Hawke is acting heart-hurt, but Merrill had mostly just put it down to feeling sore and stressed.

Marian sits beside Varric on the loveseat, clinging to her Papa's hand -- unusual, but not overly so. She begins, as before, with, "Rosemary is... she and I are no longer dating."

"Oh, that's a shame, I...." she trails off there, her attention flicking upwards to the half-drow whose lap she's in. His expression is hard and twisted between murderous and despairing. "...is that not a bad thing?" she asks quietly, starting to think that perhaps this wasn't just a break-up.

Seli, moving slow, kneels down in front of Hawke. "Would you like a hug?" she asks gently. Leaning against the wall, Aveline's hand goes white at the knuckles as she grips the hilt of her blade.

"No," she says, quietly. _I don't want to break down before I finish explaining._ Instead, she puts a hand on Seli's shoulder, taking some small comfort from her presence. "She is... I have to ask..." She takes a deep breath. "As with Anders, I... please, I want her to be left alone. Don't... do anything about what I'm about to tell you."

"I have already given my promise," Zevran says tightly. Merrill looks around, somewhat bewildered, but eventually nods her agreement.

Varric grunts, then says shortly, "I'll swear as Shadow."

Aveline frowns, a little affronted but only for a second. Given the rest of her Clan, it's not an unreasonable thing to ask and it wouldn't be fair to single her out as not needing to promise to prevent matters being dealt with personally. Or... wait, surely she's not meaning... "Hawke... she broke a law, a serious one. And not... not in the pursuit of helping someone. There are exemptions, exceptions for some of the lesser laws for adventurers who are on heroics, but this isn't... this is not that."

The hero shakes her head. "I don't know what... what Zevran said, though I have some idea. But. It's not as... it's not as cut-and-dried as he'd have you believe. And, I'm a Light now, I can't... there would be a scandal."

"You withdrew your consent and she continued anyway." Zevran's voice is stubborn and unyielding. "Rape."

Merrill gasps, her eyes widening. "I- she- [Hawke, are you--]" She starts to rise, but Zevran holds her in place, whispering in her ear. She looks neither convinced nor pleased, but she pauses to listen.

Marian looks at her lap, moving the hand on Seli back into it -- she's gripping Varric's hand too tightly to try and disentangle that one. "I appreciate your trying to protect me," she whispers. "But... please. I don't want this to..."

"Perhaps a compromise then," Wynne offers. "I will speak with Miss Rosemary, explain to her what has occurred and inform her that should it come to light anything like this occurs again, even in lesser form, then steps will be taken to obtain... deferred judgment. But we, none of us, will otherwise take any steps."

Aveline looks a bit torn, but appears to be willing to accept it. Zevran looks less enthused, but it's now his turn to be pulled close for a whispered talk from Merrill.

Marian winces. "I'll go with you. This is my responsibility.'

Wynne shakes her head. "If you are there, it becomes personal again, and will be more likely to become an argument. I know you wish to be involved, but it would best if you focused on yourself," she says kindly.

Marian stares at her lap for a moment. Finally, she gives a small nod. "I wasn't going to... Use that word. But I thought you deserved to know some of what occurred. I... Saw two of you during her heat, but only two." Despite having promised to go see Aveline when she met with Zevran. "It was... More difficult than I anticipated."

Seli looks dismayed. "I... I saw how you were struggling but I didn't realize... oh Hawke, I'm so sorry."

Merrill is curling around Zevran now, crying softly as she stares at Hawke with sad eyes. Varric is very, very quiet, just holding his little girl as he tries to puzzle out a way to make it all better.

Hawke shakes her head. "It's alright, Seli. I didn't... I didn't quite realize it myself. I... I didn't get much sleep." She winces a little at the massive understatement, but lets it ride. "It became hard to... focus on things without enough sleep. It wasn't until I'd slept and thought things through and slept again that I started to... remember how it happened."

"I should have know, should have recognized, I... I'm supposed to be trained for this," the priestess says with some self-directed disgust.

"It is harder to see it in a loved one," Zevran rasps out. "Harder to admit, yes, but also harder to see. And now that you have, you shall not miss it again, I assure you."

Seli glances over her shoulder at him, then nods slowly, looking a little less guilty. She offers her hand again, setting it on the couch next to Hawke so she can take it if she wishes. "How... have you been... healed yet or..?"

"I'm a good liar," admits Marian, quietly. "Better than most people believe. But... yes, I've been healed. I was... it was rough on my body."

Aveline beings to mutter something in Celestial under her breath. It's almost a chant, rather too long for a spell, so perhaps a prayer? Zevran tucks his face into the side of Merrill's neck, breathing in her scent. He longs to hold Hawke, to touch her and be sure she is here and whole, but... this also soothes the rage in him.

"And the hardest lie to spot is one that's spoken to the liar first," Varric murmurs.

"Why... why do people do this?" Merrill asks suddenly, voice sounding lost and hurt. "It- she was your friend, she was supposed to- why did she- why did they lie to us?" she pleads, clearly seeing some painfully familiar in this betrayal.

Hawke shakes her head, fighting back the tears. "I don't know. I... I only wanted to help her. I wanted to make sure she was safe and loved during... but she said... she said I always want sex, and she wanted to... she wanted me not to need Zevran anymore."

Merrill's confusion only increases. "We don't need Zevran for _sex_ ," she protests. "It's very nice and I really enjoy but that's not why we love him! He's Zevran. Who cares about-- about--" she breaks off, beginning to hiccup. Zevran looks like he's been struck in the heart with a cursed healing blade, the blow both wonderful and terrible. He pulls his elven lover in even tighter, rocking her back and forth.

"[Selfish backstabbing bitch]," Aveline explodes in Dwarven, her muttered prayers clearly not enough. She gulps in air, trying to calm herself. Strangely, her hair seems to shimmer slightly, as if she's radiating heat.

Marian flinches a little. "You're right," she tells Merrill, once Aveline's calmed enough. "She doesn't, didn't, understand Clan. She wanted me to herself. So... you can see, this was... a misunderstanding."

Aveline turns, punches the wall, then stalks off to the kitchen without another word. After a moment, Wynne follows her with a murmured, "I'll help her make some fresh tea."

Merrill stares at the room with wide eyes, her head slowly casting downward. "..is... does that mean... did I just... misunderstand what Moe... was that my fault?" she asks weakly, her mind still connecting the two issues, though it seems she's not sure what role she played.

_No. Yes. **No.**_ Marian takes a deep breath, lifts her head. "You did... but also, he lied to you. And it wasn't your fault. You just... need to be more cautious when choosing associates." Merrill sniffles, still looking unsure.

"Moe lied to you. Used your heart and kindness to get what it wanted from you without caring what the cost would be, as it would not be paid by it. Moe was perhaps not evil in the way of being cruel or malicious, but it was a lesser evil, a more... normal evil, in how she simply did not care about you. A selfish, indifferent evil. Perhaps... perhaps you erred in your judgment, perhaps you were too kind and giving of yourself, but that does not excuse, even for an instant, the pain they gave you," Zevran says slowly, eyes starting off at nothing with great intensity.

_She...? _They'd been calling Moe 'he' or 'it' depending, so-- Marian lets out a small whimper, closing her eyes. _Without caring what the cost might be, as she wouldn't pay it. Not cruel or malicious, but selfish, indifferent._ "She kept biting me," she whispers. "I told her that wasn't okay but... she liked it." She takes a deep breath. "I couldn't get any sleep. I had to sneak out to see Seli, that's why I was so late -- she wouldn't go down for a nap so I could slip off."__

___And I ignored it, noticed the exhaustion and just..._ "I'm sorry," Seli whispers again. "I should have... I'll do _better_ ," she promises Hawke, herself and Ciren all as one._ _

__Zevran doesn't say anything aloud, but his eyes scream the word. _Rape.__ _

__"I... I'm glad she's gone then," Merrill says firmly despite her resumed tears. "I liked her but now I don't. She hurt you and tried to replace Zevran and I hate her."_ _

__"You did," Marian says softly to Seli. "You mothered me. You got a real meal into me, one of maybe two I had all week. You gave me tonic and salve, I was so grateful for that. I didn't really... it wasn't as bad the first few days as it got. If it weren't for you, I might--" She stops, then, realizing. _If it wasn't for her telling me this was abnormal, telling me Rosemary should know better, I might not have resisted as much as I did afterward. I might have not said no. And then it wouldn't be..._ "Thank you," she ends._ _

__"Perhaps," the priestess says weakly. "I... I still feel guilty, but that does help." She smiles a little then, offering, "Gilly has changed her mind again. She's decided princesses are boring, and has decided to be a pirate Light instead. I can't imagine why."_ _

__Marian smiles, the tears finally breaking through. "Gilly is amazing," she whispers. "Thank you all so much for being here for me."_ _

__"Nowhere else we'd be," Varric says gruffly, desperately glad that Seli and Zevran, even Merrill, were here to talk about this with Hawke. He... he can't find the words for this. Can't even begin to find them._ _

__"Did... did you want to read a bit?" Zevran asks after it's quiet for a moment._ _

__"Please," she says, with a small nod. "Would you mind reading today?"_ _

__Zevran hesitates and Seli chimes in quickly, "I'd like to, if no-one minds?" Zevran quickly accepts and Seli goes to fetch the book Merrill names. Seli, after giving the sofa next to Hawke a glance, settles down there. Hawke is leaning against Varric, his arm across her back, but her legs gently pressing against Seli as well._ _

__Seli begins to read, her voice low and soothing, evidently well practiced to reading to her twins already. Aveline and Wynne return shortly after story-time starts, the young woman with a hint of surprise mixed in with her still simmering anger. Wynne takes a seat next to Merrill and Zevran while Aveline places herself in an easy chair near the door, as if to cover the entrance._ _

__It's clear that everyone is still upset, still hurt and angry and guilty and- but... it's better now. They're together and healing and... it's better._ _

__~*~_ _

__The next two days, Hawke barely sets foot outside Varric's home. She protests, but only weakly; right now, company (of a non-sexual sort) is instrumental to her wellbeing. She doesn't want to exclude Merrill, but neither is she up for cuddling right now; when the elf mentioned her sewing projects, Hawke jumped on that as a way to keep her busy. Therefore, she, Merrill, and Seli were working on a pirate dress for Gilly: Merrill stitching the dress, Seli advising, and Hawke making ribbons, lace trims, and other little bits she can do by herself. Hawke was seated beside Varric on the loveseat while Seli and Merrill had the couch, leaving Zevran the armchair as he reads from a storybook._ _

__And then there's an unexpected knock on the door._ _

__Zevran slips from the chair, setting his book face down to keep his place despite the evil glare from Varric, and heads for the door. He doesn't open it, instead lifting himself up by the frame of the window to peer out and see who it is from an unexpected height. He doesn't normally do that sort of thing unless they're on a job... seems he's not as relaxed as he's trying to make himself out to be._ _

__Seeing someone he doesn't recognize, he lowers himself. "Stranger," he calls out, quietly._ _

__Hawke frowns, looking for her staff. She finds it across the room, too far from her current position to grab in a hurry. She puts down the ribbon she's working with, picking up the scissors just in case Zevran needs backup. She's nowhere near as good as he is with this sort of thing, but better than bare fists._ _

__Zevran gives her a moment before opening the door with a small brass stamp in his hand, as if he'd been stamping paperwork. The cat at the door has short grey fur, with black tabby stripes. He wears a simple tunic and leggings, and looks mildly queasy when Zevran opens the door. "This, ah, Hawke's house?" he asks, eyes darting nervously to see behind Zevran. He's holding a small leather pouch in one hand, but is otherwise unarmed -- or as unarmed as catfolk get._ _

__"It is," the ex-assassin says blandly, body covering Hawke from sight while allowing Varric-- who is holding Bianca in his hand behind the sofa-- line of sight. "And you are?"_ _

__Merrill, without pausing her verbal musings about how to work the hemline just right, drifts towards Hawke's staff._ _

__"Jun," the catfolk says, twitching faintly. "This for Hawke. From Basil." He holds out the pouch for Zevran to take. "Says sorry. Tribe honor restored, yah?"_ _

__Hawke stiffens instantly when she hears the name 'Basil', getting up a moment later -- too slow for her first reaction to have been one of protectiveness, but faster than if it was okay._ _

__Zevran eyes the pouch, then reaches over to a nearby hook and pulls off a hat to extend towards Jun. "Sorry about what, exactly?" he asks, tone polite but a touch distant. Behind him, Merrill snatches up the staff and starts over to Hawke to pass it off, prioritizing speed over subtlety. Hawke takes the staff, dropping the scissors and flashing Merrill a grateful smile._ _

__Jun blinks, looking at the hat for a moment before a look of comprehension dawns and he drops the pouch inside. "For Rosemary." he says, taking a nervous step backward. He nods toward the hat. "Honor restored?"_ _

__Zevran stills, his eyes shifting slightly from green to grey as his emotions flare. "What?" he snaps, dropping the hat on the ground between them. "Explain."_ _

__"Basil is Rosemary's father," says Hawke as she steps up behind Zevran. "Juniper is her half-brother."_ _

__The half-drow's response is in Elven: "[They think to- to what? Pay coin for your suffering?]" he snaps. "[As if-]" he cuts off, unable to finish. _As if Rosemary were just paying a token as apology for marking or damaging a slave. As if pain and suffering, as if lives could be measured in gold._ Weird though -- there wasn't a clinking, like the sound of coins hitting together, when the pouch hit the floor in the hat. It was more of a 'thud'._ _

__Jun twitches a bit, taking his tone if not understanding his words. He gestures toward the hat. "Needs more?"_ _

__Zevran swallows hard. "[Is there any magic on it?]" he asks tightly._ _

__"[No]," Hawke says, a moment later, in the same language. "[It's safe]."_ _

__Moving quickly, eyes never leaving Jun, Zevran grabs the hat and opens the pouch, careful to touch it as little as possible and tilt the opening away from Hawke. There is gold inside: two gold pieces, a fortune to catfolk. And... Ten black claws, some of the bases still sporting a bit of blood. Hawke sucks in a breath, clinging to her staff tightly._ _

__Zevran considers this a moment. "Better," he murmurs, tone dark with satisfaction. "What does that mean, exactly? In you culture? I suspect it is more than just the physical loss of her claws?" he says lazily. Varric slowly approaches, Bianca away again for now. Hearing Zevran's question, he hisses softly._ _

__"Beaten, like a naughty kit," offers Jun -- Juniper? "I held her down, Basil did the pulling."_ _

__Hawke blanches. "I think he meant, socially."_ _

__Jun swallows. "No status. Cannot hunt, has to feed with kits and wounded. No kits, she cannot protect family."_ _

__"Ah. So she is, socially speaking, a child again, the rights of being an adult taken from her?" Hawke's lover asks, sounding rather pleased at the thought. "And during her next heat?"_ _

__Jun hesitates a few moments before offering, "If 'tpleases, we could... make sure there is no next heat." Zevran starts to say he'd be happy to ensure that as well, but swallows it back. This... this is for Hawke. He takes a breath, then glances, for a split second, in her direction. Hawke looks... pale, nauseated. She flinches away from Zevran's gaze, not wanting to make this decision. _I can't trust my heart about Rosemary. I keep wanting to forgive her.__ _

__Behind them, Varric steps in. "What would that entail? Preventing her heat?"_ _

__Jun flinches. "Ah... cutting." He gestures to his stomach, helplessly, for a moment, before reverting to his native tongue, not really expecting anyone to understand him but hoping they'll at least understand he's not being evasive intentionally. "[Removing the kitten-growing parts]."_ _

__"[Would it hurt her in any other way? Any side-effects? And how risky is it to her life?" Varric asks briskly, wanting to get all the information he can before making a suggestion._ _

__Jun swallows. "[She would not have heat. She would not be able to have kits, physically. She may get sick, from the cutting, like losing an arm. Keep the wound clean, and she will live.]" A brief pause, then, "[If elder wishes her to live.]" 'Elder' being here in the second person, a respectful reference to either Varric or Hawke, from context._ _

__"[Would it affect her personality or her health otherwise? If the cutting was done right and no sickness set in, that she was given the needed care afterwards.]"_ _

__"[Will have... She will be like an elder, for a time. The, the symptoms of not being fertile. And, some tales say there is a deep sadness that comes with it.]"_ _

__"[Thank you. A moment while I speak with my daughter]," the dwarf concludes with a nod. Of course she understood the whole exchange; she had a knack for languages, if not his head start, and had learned Catfolk shortly after beginning to get serious about Rosemary. For privacy, he changes to Orcish: "If we make it clear we want her to survive, maybe even return the two gold to hire a good healer for it, having her.... female-castrated is pretty fair, in a rough sort of way. Or we can make them agree to not allow her to mate outside her people. Limit her to only catfolk, as she clearly isn't willing to learn the sexual mores other races. That's...less harsh. Less punishment but should still prevent this from happening again to someone else."_ _

__Hawke looks about to be ill. She swallows, shaking her head as she replies in Orcish. "She didn't-- she doesn't--" _She raped you. Say the word: rape._ She glances at Zevran briefly. _He would say to do it. What do you want, Hawke? If this were someone else, if someone had hurt Merrill that way--__ _

__Picturing Merrill's fair skin dappled with bruises, punctuated with bite marks, caused frost to form on her staff, sharp and rapid._ _

___There's that cold anger._ "Do it." This she speaks in common._ _

__Varric moves to the hat, plucking the two coins from it. "This is for the cutting. See to it she lives without anything but her heat being lost." He hesitates, then adds, "That, her claws and keeping her away from trying to see or contact Hawke again, and this will considered over. Agreed Hawke?" he adds._ _

__Hawke nods, looking away from the door as her cold anger begins to thaw. Jun takes the coins, nodding. "Yessir. Thank you sir." He gives a deep bow, his tail twitching nervously._ _

__Zevran sniffs once, then shuts the door. "Well. Back to dressmaking?" he says cheerfully._ _

__Hawke looks ill, turning to head for the restroom._ _

__~*~_ _

__The rest of the night goes better. She's quieter, once Merrill brings her back and Seli returns with a fresh pot of tea. Soon, she starts sounding like her old self again, if only in bits and pieces._ _

__The peace lasts a few more days uninterrupted before Marian begins to really chafe at the restrictions. She starts pushing to keep her appointments, offering to tell people she had the flu and is better now. Eventually, life settles into something like the old routine._ _

__A week has passed since she returned to Varric's place, but only just, when she drops by to pay Zevran a call after supper. She's wearing a dress; she almost never wears dresses outside of formal occasions anymore, but she's put on a knee-length gown tonight for some reason. She smiles at Zevran as he greets her, and holds up a paper bag._ _

__"I brought dessert. Want to eat in?"_ _

__"Yes, of course, and also what's in the bag?" he says automatically, then stills, eyes darting to her face to see her reaction._ _

__She laughs, though there's a tension around her eyes that doesn't fade when she does. "Perfect. Grab some wine?"_ _

__A few minutes later, she unpacks her bag upstairs, laying out still-warm berry cobbler onto two plates. To that she adds clotted cream, letting him pour the wine and making small talk about his business as they eat._ _

__She got two flavors, it seems: raspberry and grape. Upon exclaiming with delight that her cobbler is delicious, she offers him a bite off her fork, which starts a war of flirtation: offering bites, sips, and small kisses. Zevran is...game for the games, so to speak, but wary. He never makes an offer or gesture she has not, and always there is a pause, a look, to insure she is pleased with his responses. It's strange behavior, but not entirely unfamiliar, as it is very much the same as their first time so long again._ _

__When she moves it forward, when she pushes it past flirting to foreplay, when she very attentively licks off a bit of wayward filling from his chest, he finally calls her on it. Voice carefully passive, he asks, "Hawke... is this... are you very sure? We do not have to..."_ _

__"I want you to fuck me, Zevran." she whispers in Elven, looking up at him with her eyes ablaze. There is tension there, but also determination._ _

__"Merciful Ciren," he croaks at her look. "I... I want this, gods I do, but only if you are sure. Absolutely sure. I will wait, forever and a day if you-" She cuts him off with a kiss, pushing her tongue insistently into his mouth. Zevran moans, soft and yearning, and he eagerly kisses back. But his hands fist on the sofa. He doesn't pull her close or guide them down to intertwine._ _

__When she pulls back, she closes her eyes, her hands shuddering a little as she tries to force them still. _You can't make him. He doesn't want to.__ _

___Rosemary thrusting her rough tongue into Marian's mouth, waking her from precious sleep._ _ _

__She turns away, clenching her teeth, trying to slow her breathing._ _

__"I am sorry, I should not have- this was too soon, I am so very sorry I- do-do you need me to fetch Varric or Seli?" he asks quickly, his voice thick with guilt._ _

__"Don't you dare," she hisses, through clenched teeth. Deep breath. Another. She forces her hands to open. She forces a smile on her face. She looks back at him. "If you don't want to do this, don't lie to me about it." Her voice is cold, despite the twisted mockery of a smile._ _

__Zevran stares a moment. "...what?" he asks slowly._ _

__"Don't ever, ever let me force you into--" she chokes off, tears welling up._ _

__"What? Marian, I have never-- I have never _not_ wanted you when you have offered yourself. I--" He pauses, then laughs. It's a touch dark, but it's an actual laugh. "Hawke, are we both thinking the other does not wish this because we are both holding back... because we are thinking the other does not wish this?"_ _

__She shakes her head. "I suppose," she says, after a moment. "Is that why--?" She gives a pained smile. "I'm sick of people being so careful of me. It just... it just reminds me."_ _

__"I... I am sorry for... bah," he scrubs his face with a hand, then looks at her with loving eyes. "Do you still wish to make love tonight? If you can promise you will not hesitate to use our safe word if you wish to stop, for any reason, then... I will try to act as I normally would. To treat you as before."_ _

__"Please," she says, quietly. "I want you to erase the memory of her."_ _

__Zevran reaches out to stroke her cheek, a smile curling on his lips. "I think I might just have a wand for that, my sultry little Hawke," he says, voice getting a little husky as he pulls her back to him. "Shall we... give it a cast?"_ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__It was an ordinary Caelday, in the middle of the afternoon, weeks after Hawke's recovery. The Voice was just getting going for the evening; rumors of its expertise and class have spread far and wide, and the price for a night was high enough before fame found it that many customers chose to show up earlier and earlier into the evening in order to get an hour or two before the employees were all booked._ _

__So it wasn't unusual for Madam Zevvy to be called in to handle a situation, even this early in the day. However, the situation typically involves more nudity and fewer... children?_ _

__"She won't tell me why. Just keeps saying she needs to see you. I think this is... related to other matters," Amanda hisses, leading Zevvy to the room she was using._ _

__As she pushes open the door, Zevvy becomes certain this is related to 'other matters'. For there, perched in the center of the bed scribbling in a notebook, was Helene. The child was dressed as oddly as always, though they seemed to have obtained a pair of spectacles in the intervening years since they had first contacted Zevran._ _

__"Ah. Yes. this one-- well, they are... most certainly part of my Hawke's business, not the Voice's," he murmurs to her. "Thank you Amanda, and please let Rosalie know she might have to take over managing tonight."_ _

__Once she slips off, he enters the room fully. "Helene, was it not?" he asks politely. "I... hope you have a much different message this time," he says bluntly._ _

__The child nods. "I need the Hawke's help."_ _

__"I see. And will this lead to the Hawk's death again?" he asks blandly. "Because if so, then you and Nyra both can fuck right the fuck off."_ _

__Helene blinks, disquieted. "Unclear," they say, at last._ _

___Fucking wonderful_. "Fine... what do you want?" he asks a bit tiredly. _I was bluffing, mostly, anyway. It's not up to me to decide if she... if she wants this again. Gods, not this again, please.__ _

__"An associate of this one is behaving strangely. Investigation has provided no clear actions. The intervention of a hero would be welcome, and this one remembers the Hawke as a particularly kind example of heroism." Helene's tone is matter of fact, but there's a tinge of blush to their cheeks, giving a sense of embarrassment._ _

__Zevran's jaw twitches at Helene's phrasing but he doesn't otherwise comment on it. "Hawke is... rather busy of late, can you tell me anymore? How urgent is this?" _I need to make a point of having 'this one' met Wynne... just in case. Probably nothing but...__ _

__"It is likely not a matter of urgency. In truth, this one has not been directed by Alydra to investigate this matter. This one is merely... concerned."_ _

__Oh. Okay, that's... "So you're more looking for... what, advice or something like that? Not her help preventing some kind of great doom?" he clarifies. And evidently doesn't have anyone else to go to, other than a person she's never actually met before, just knows is a 'kind hero.' Well... fuck. That's not only sad but also entirely something that's going to make Hawke want to adopt the little fey waif._ _

__Helene nods, looking a touch relieved. "That is precisely the case."_ _

__"...sure, why not," he says with a slight shake of his head.. He thinks a moment, then continues, "can you meet tomorrow around noon?"_ _

__Helene nods. "This is acceptable."_ _

__He nods, then gives the oracle the address for Varric's office in upper Coalside. "Can you find that or..?"_ _

__"This one is familiar with the street system in Coalside," affirms Helene with a nod._ _

__Arrangements made, Zevran escorts her out. Once he returns, he confirms that Helene is not a customer, but is allowed to use one of the cheaper rooms to wait in if she returns until Zevran can be found, implying she's an informant of sorts._ _

__The following day, he heads for Aveline's bright and early, wanting to catch Hawke before she leaves. He'd not wanted to interrupt their date night. Of all Hawke's lovers, Aveline seems the one most proficient at... simple romance and while he honestly doesn't think it would suit him, it firmly believes that it suits them. And interruptions or guests are not exactly romantic, even if said things are eminently desirable elves._ _

__And so he knocks a jaunty little rhythm on the door, waiting for Hawke to answer, given that Aveline tends to sleep late due to her work schedule._ _

__Hawke answers the door with her staff in her hand -- though she looks relieved at once, when she sees Zevran, leaning the weapon up against the doorframe. As a newly minted Light, she's rapidly learning the power of disarming herself in polite company. "Zevran," she says, with a smile. "Something wrong?"_ _

__"Not... wrong, per se, but merely... well. I was contacted by a... an one-time associate," he says slowly. "A local, an oracle for Alydra that has something of a reputation as a gather of knowledge and recorder of histories, who once provided a well-meaning if not entirely useful bit of assistance. Right now, however, she is hoping to met with you for what I gather is advice on a personal issue."_ _

__She quirks an eyebrow. "I didn't know you knew any oracles. Could have been useful," she quips. "Come in, I'll kiss Aveline goodbye."_ _

__"Know of perhaps," Zevran replies, stepping inside to wait. He leans against the wall near the door, slightly uncomfortable in Aveline's private space. "We have met a handful of times, though I did ask about her from those I know," he explains._ _

__"And?" she asks, as she heads for the bedroom._ _

__"She- or possibly he actually, reports were somewhat varied on the matter and her appearance is... ambiguous- is a Samsaran, a greater long lived race that does not breed but instead has some kind of... reincarnation cycle thing," he replies. "I didn't entirely follow the explanation, but evidently Helene has vague memories or something of her previous lives. She is also cursed with youth, as the price for her Sight. Evidently, she ages but not visibly, so that she will also appear as a young child until her death." He falls silent then, waiting for Hawke to return._ _

__Aveline is where her lover left her, slowly returning to slumber after Hawke had risen for the day. She's curled up around the pillow Hawke was using, her red hair loose and draped across her rather cute cotton nightgown. Not that Hawke would likely offer that opinion, knowing Aveline's likely reaction. Hawke leans over Aveline, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Sleepyhead," she whispers. "you awake?"_ _

__"'ite you," she mumbles back. So yes, but don't wanna be._ _

__"Love you too," she says, quietly. "I'm going out -- Zevran is here, with a hero problem. Something about an oracle of Alydra?"_ _

__Aveline's lips curve slightly at Hawke's endearment and she murmurs a sleepy acknowledgment to the later part. Her eyes close the rest of the way and Hawke is likely just about to say goodbye again or leave when she frowns slightly. "'dra? Hel'nn?"_ _

__Hawke blinks. "Helene, I think he said? A samsaran, cursed with youth."_ _

__"They," Aveline mumbles, slowly prying herself out of sleep and not fully hearing Hawke._ _

__"Pardon?" the half-elf asks, blinking._ _

__She opens bleary eyes and starts to reply but yawns instead. Shaking that off, she tries again. "They prefer they. Not male or female."_ _

__Hawke blinks. "They... do? Oh! Helene does." She shakes her head, confusion resolving on her face. "I meant, Zevran said they were called Helene." She then tilts her head. "I didn't realize people could be 'they' in common? Is that like [hir] in Infernal? Andy taught me about that one last week, for beings that don't have a gender."_ _

__Aveline stares at her blankly. "Sure?" she finally says. "And don't speak that here," she adds with a frown._ _

__"Yes mum," the hero jokes. "But I've never seen a grammatical construct like it. Is it a backport? Are samsarans extraplanar?"_ _

__"Must be some kind of outsidery thing," the guard captain mumbles, trying to burrow into her pillow, though she's not yet at the 'burying her head under it to block her voice out' stage. "Long lived, quasi-immortal."_ _

__"That makes sense," she nods, with a small frown of thought. "Anyway, Helene needs my help, so I'll let you sleep."_ _

__"Mmmh, love amata safe," Aveline mumbles, eagerly closing her eyes and breathing in Hawke's scent on the pillow._ _

__"Love you too." She smiles, then heads back toward Zevran._ _

__"Right, so Aveline knows this Helene person, they're a they rather than a he or a she, and we're good to go." She grabs her staff again, taking a quick look to be sure she's not leaving anything behind._ _

__A look of worry flashes across Zevran's face at Hawke's response. "I... may be overreacting, but I would like to see if Wynne could attend," he says carefully._ _

__Hawke blinks. "Uh, sure, but overreacting to what?"_ _

__He takes a breath. "She-- They-- do not seem... Well. Helene used the phrase 'this one' repeatedly and..." He shrugs a little. "Add in some rather atypical behavior and some awkwardness with social cues and... I would feel better of Wynne observed her."_ _

__Marian stills. "...Agreed." she says, after a moment._ _

__~*~_ _

__After a quick detour to Wynne's (where they distract Merrill with a comment about Gilly and Tomas outgrowing their sweater and wouldn't they look darling in sweaters with hoods that look like animals?), the now trio arrive at Varric's to wait for Helene to arrive at noon. Wynne and Varric busy themselves with a game of chess while Zevran, stressed and bored, starts trying to tempt Hawke into making out despite (or perhaps because of) Varric glaring at him._ _

__Hawke giggles, but does push Zevran away after a bit. "Come on, we don't have time for that. So what do I need to know about this Helene? Preferably including combat abilities, just in case."_ _

__It's Varric that answers first. "Well, I don't know them personally, but oracles are caster types. Most divine, but with a fairly limited selection of prayers. They'll be as bad as your typical wizard up close."_ _

__"Worse actually due to their size," Wynne cuts in smoothly. "An oracle under the curse of youth has the body of a child, including the smaller size and lesser build. If this Helene's power is great enough, it is possible she- sorry, they- have mitigated that somewhat, but they will always be a little weaker than they would if allowed to mature fully. However the mind is not so hindered, so do not expect them to act or think like a child."_ _

__Varric nods. "From what I understand, most oracles are big on hexes and curses, not unlike Moonbeam but they don't often have familiars or the like. Given their reputation, they'll probably be more book than battle. Probably knows more about Nyra, past and present than any of us. Maybe any two of us for the past."_ _

__Zevran is silent until they finish, then adds, "she is... reserved. Awkward, as if merely acting according to half-remembered rules. Helene is also the one that gave that... warning, about the broken stone."_ _

__Varric stiffens, having not been told the person's name three and a half years ago._ _

__Hawke is quiet for a long moment, letting that hang in the air. Finally, she claps her hands together. "Well! That's probably plenty, thank you."_ _

__Hawke was told about the prophecy, some time after... coming back, along with an apologetic explanation that they'd not been sure it was about her and that they'd hoped to have some kind of translation before bringing it to her. She had made it clear she was disappointed that they didn't bring the prophecy to her when they'd told her later. In the end, she'd been forced to concede that she wouldn't have acted any differently, but it had been a wedge between them for a time. She's not going to bring that up again, not now when she's still a little... shakey about the whole Rosemary thing. She can see the pair are nervous, so there's no point fighting._ _

__"When she arrives, I figure Shadow can do the introductions, then hover close just in case. Hawke and I'll do most of the talking and Nana Cuppa will sit in the back and give a shout of we have to blast Moe the Second into the ground?" Varric asks, glancing around._ _

__Wynne purses her lips, giving him a steady look at her new name._ _

__Hawke chuckles. "Sure. That sounds great."_ _

__~*~_ _

__Helene knocks exactly at the stroke of noon. _Weird, that. Almost compulsive, as if there's some strict rule against tardiness they cannot break. Almost as if they're fae._ Hawke tightens her grip on her staff, waiting for Zevran to get the door. Wynne directs Rhys, incorporeal, to the left of the room to wait and Varric flexes his hand to be sure he's ready to summon and fire._ _

__Zevran glances around, notes that everyone is ready, and opens the door careful to keep his body somewhat behind it as cover. "Helene... you're very prompt," he remarks._ _

__Helene nods. They've dressed up today: in addition to the constant slacks, waistcoat, and lace-cuffed shirt, they are also wearing a lace-fronted neck ruffle tucked into the pinstripe waistcoat. Their hair is neatly combed, and they carry a large, leather-bound sketchbook in both arms, in addition to the usual satchel. "Promptness is a virtue," they exposit. "May this one enter?"_ _

__Zevran doesn't reply, instead merely stepping back while still holding the door, which causes it to open further. _Can_ 'this one' enter? Apparently so; Helene looks at the assembled crowd, pausing only to give a polite bow before entering. "This one is pleased to serve-- ah, meet you all." That's an odd turn of phrase, but it doesn't take too much of an eye for people to see they're nervous._ _

__"...as you say," Zevran murmurs, closing the door. "Oracle Helene, this is the office of Merchant Tethras. The refined lady is a dear friend, Professor Wynne, late of the Aequitarian College and, of course, my lovely, the inestimable Sage Light zi'Hawke Tethras."_ _

__Hawke quirks an eyebrow -- usually if Clan is using her full titles, it's Varric trying to impress someone with his daughter's accomplishments. "Pleased to meet you, Helene."_ _

__Helene bows again, deeper this time. "T-this one is so grateful to be granted an audience," they stammer. "This one is merely Helene Dakesh, humbly chosen to serve Alydra."_ _

__"So I gathered. What can I do for you?"_ _

__Zevran drifts to the center of the room, gesturing at a chair normally offered to kender, dwarves and the rare gnome, before taking a spot a bit off to the side of it. Helene takes a deep breath, fidgeting on the balls of their feet. "This one has.. a friend. Another Oracle. That friend is new to the group of Oracles that have made their way to Nyra, and is strange to us. The friend seems well but at times they seem.. not well. That one is allowed her privacy of course but this one is concerned that there may be trouble. This one attempted to solve the trouble and... the friend vanished." She winces. "Not in the magical sense, as it is understood. Perhaps in the magical sense, that is to say, simply--"_ _

__"She stopped showing up places," confirms Hawke._ _

__"Probably she is showing up in a place only that place is not the place where this one expected--"_ _

__"You think she might be avoiding you, because you tried to help?" Varric tries to clarify._ _

__"It is possible. This one does not know."_ _

__"Alright.... fair. So who's your missing friend and what was- is- their problem?" he follows up._ _

__Helene swallows. "Her name is Sharran. She is an Oracle whose calling is tied to the moon. She is missing."_ _

__"Ah, sorry, I meant the problem you were trying to help her with before she went missing."_ _

__Helene blushes. "In truth, this one does not know. I-- This one asked, but... Sherran did not feel comfortable sharing."_ _

__Varric's eyes gleam a little. "Interesting tic there. Something wrong with pronouns?" he asks, tone curious._ _

__Helene blinks. "No. This one is attempting to use specific, precise language suitable for a formal occasion. Is that not correct?"_ _

__"It's... a bit archaic. And you don't have to be formal- you're here to talk to Hawke as an adventurer, not as a Light, aren't you?" he points out._ _

__"But-- zi'Hawke is a hero," says Helene, nervously shifting their weight. "Is, am, is my speech incorrect for such an occasion?" they stammer out._ _

__"It is not incorrect," Wynne says gently. "It is not required, as this is an informal meeting, but there is no harm using it if you wish." Hearing this, a subtle tension leaks out of both the men in the room._ _

__Helene frowns. "Is it correct or incorrect?" they ask, more insistently._ _

__"It is one of the available correct options," Wynne replies after a moment._ _

__Helene frowns. They kneel, opening the sketchbook and making a note in the book, on a fresh page. Afterward, they straighten, closing the book and giving a small bow. "Please excuse this one. I will endeavor to learn more correct protocol before the next meeting."_ _

__Hawke blinks. "So, your friend, Sharran. Where does she live? I can start there."_ _

__Helene rattles off an address in one of the rougher parts of Coalside. Strange. H- Their behavior almost reminds Zevran of slaves that are so afraid of being punished that even when out of a master's supervision, they obsessively follow all the rules and orders. Even after being freed, at times. But there's no real fear in the child, just discomfort. Well, nerves as well, but more of one meeting their idol or the like rather than actual fear._ _

__"Anything you can think of that might be relevant to your... request?" Varric asks._ _

__Helene pauses. "There is something I can think of. But it is not... if it is not relevant to immediate harm, I am not allowed to speak of it."_ _

__"...could you describe the concern in a general fashion?" Varric asks tentatively._ _

__Helene frowns, thinking the matter over. "Sharran has unusual biology," they conclude, after a moment._ _

__"...unusual like... aberration or outsider or... a funny birthmark?" Zevran asks stiffly, warily._ _

__"Her biology is atypical, but does not denote a separate subspecies or type." Helene clarifies._ _

__"And it's not something that could be dangerous? For her or us?" Varric follows up._ _

__Helene frowns. "Not for you. Potentially for her."_ _

__"Is... there something we can do or... bring to help with that?" the dwarf asks, trying to be prepared but not pry._ _

__Helene blinks. "Ideally you would be non-judgemental."_ _

___Ah, one of those kinds of things. Drow blood or maybe a tiefling?_ Varric muses. "Alright-- you wouldn't happen to have a picture or even a good description of Sharran?"_ _

__Helene opens the sketchbook again, flipping back a few pages. They turn the book around, revealing a sketch._ _

__The first thing they notice is how detailed the sketch is. It depicts a sleeping elf maiden, reclining on a pillow, close up enough that no detail of the room is seen. The next thing is how lovingly the elf is rendered. She looks serene, young, and a little lost; it's clear that either Helene has an amazing eye for detail or this was done carefully over the course of several hours. The elf has dark hair, pulled back into a long braid. Her features are as dainty as all elves, actually a little less so than Merrill's, more similar to Hawke's save for the extreme pureblood point of her ears._ _

__Varric nods after a moment, glancing at Hawke to see if she's got it memorized. Hawke smiles, a touch. "You were close?"_ _

__Helene looks startled. "Please be more precise."_ _

__"Emotionally," Zevran supplies._ _

__"This o-- I am unsure. How does one measure emotional closeness?" Helene asks._ _

__"Ah... that's something that doesn't have a clear answer," Wynne offers after no-one else tries. "It's not something that can be measure with any tool, so it's hard for people to agree. I suppose a better question might be, 'is this Sharran someone of importance to you, for personal reasons and not just for your calling or job?"_ _

__Helene frowns, mulling the matter over. After a moment, they look surprised, then thoughtful. "Yes," they finally conclude._ _

__"That's adorable," gushes Marian._ _

__"Is there a a message you wish us to pass if, should we find your friend?" Zevran asks with a slight smile, feeling much more at ease with Helene after their admission._ _

__Varric just shakes his head as he realizes they've just been recruited to help pass a note to someone's crush. Probably more than that really, but still. Wynne is slightly put off, unable to entirely shake the fact that they both appear so young._ _

__Helene blinks. "I wish only her safe return. Should she be... Should my attempts at aid merely be unwelcome, I will submit quietly and retreat."_ _

__Zevran gives her a sympathetic look. "Of course." He lowers his voice, adding, "should you wish for advice on... apologizing if you have offended. Or on other personal matters, I would be happy to help if I can."_ _

__Helene stares at him. "I have questions," they say, after a moment. "When would be a good time?"_ _

__"I am usually at Voice Terraday through Moraday and most Silvadays, so if you were come by shortly after sunrise on the following days, I should be able to spare an hour or so, if you don't mind talking over breakfast," he offers. "Even if I am not there, I am sure any of my employees would be willing to take a message, if not chat with you for a few moments."_ _

__"I will do that." Helene nods, firmly, still staring at Zevran intently. Mostly at his mouth._ _

__He stares back for a moment, then slowly raises an eyebrow questioningly. Helene blinks, biting their lip as they turn away. "Ah, is there anything else required of me?"_ _

__"Is there something on my face?" the half-drow asks, glancing at Hawke._ _

__Hawke shakes her head. "Just your delicate smolder."_ _

__He shrugs, then looks back to Helene._ _

__"I'm good, I think, anyone else?" Varric asks._ _

__Hawke shakes her head. "Did you leave contact info with Zevran already?"_ _

__"I have her address, yes," Zevran confirms._ _

__"Their," corrects Helene. "I am not a 'she'."_ _

__Hawke smiles. "Can I ask about that?"_ _

__"You are capable," says Helene, a little curtly. "I do not have a gender identity. I have dedicated myself to Alydra, and thus am to be called Bright Helene. I prefer the pronouns 'they' and 'their' to refer to myself."_ _

__Zevran winces. "Ah, right, Aveline did mention something like that, my apologies," he says, bowing a little. "I did not mean to offend."_ _

__Hawke nods. "It must be strange to you then, to be surrounded by creatures with two sexes."_ _

__Helene frowns. "It is. But it is the life this one leads. Is there anything else?"_ _

__Hawke sighs. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. No, you can leave if you like."_ _

__"We'll let you know if and when we find anything out," Varric promises her._ _

__"Thank you," says Helene with a bow._ _

__~*~_ _

__

__Sharran's home is, to be quite honest, not a very nice place. It's one of those poor little hovels that Hawke was staying in when she first got to Nyra: two rooms, no windows, run down. She's decorated it as best she can, with mother-of-pearl disks hung in various locations to catch what light they can from the cracks in the boards that make up the walls of her little shack, and paintings and tapestries of wolves placed strategically to cover the worst of the decay. But it's still a hovel, still evidence of poverty. And she clearly hasn't been there in days, maybe a week._ _

__The local grocer confirms that she hasn't bought food this week, and the baker mentions she'd stopped coming in for pastries, having last been seen six days ago. The butcher mentions something interesting: she'd bought some of his cast-off bones for a dog she was trying to lure out of the muck of the nearby sewer entrance and into her home. Sharran, it seems, is very fond of dogs, and will go to some lengths to rescue them._ _

__Zevran, not much for studying a place, continues to ask around the neighbor to try and get any hints of this Sharran and her habits. And, perhaps, any other gossip that might be of interest. Varric on the other hand, _is_ , in fact, damn good at looking for clues and hints from objects and locations so he spends some time carefully looking through the girl's house._ _

__Varric finds a half-finished sketch of what appears to be a wolf; he also finds a collar and leash, but no sign that any dog lives here at the moment. It's clear she was planning on taking in the dog, though it's not clear if that was a good idea. There's also notebook upon notebook with writing in them, nearly illegible in a fancy script. One such notebook is half-filled beside the bed; nothing in there seems relevant, and it begins to feel rather like peeking in on her diary, as it's mostly filled with petty, everyday prophecies like 'don't buy fish tomorrow, it's rotten'._ _

__Zevran gets a rather bleak picture: the girl lived alone, rarely had anyone over, never had a beau or anything like that. Helene has visited a few times, but no other guests. Sharran keeps to herself, going out weekly to some meetup where she met Helene, but that's about it. But she loves dogs._ _

__It's clear to Hawke what happened: the girl went into the sewers to get a dog, and didn't come back. So, the three of them gear up and head down into the tunnels under the city, holding their breath as much as they can. _Ew_._ _

__Or rather, the four of them. After all, if you're going to be tracking someone, what better asset than a mabari? Beka is... clearly and empathically not impressed on where they're going, but duty calls. Zevran takes point with Beka to find the way, her keen nose searching for hints of the elf person her packmates are searching for, and Zevran using the second of the only two things his mother gave him to stand watch for her._ _

__Fifty feet or so behind them, Marian's staff glows softly to provide light for her and Varric- not that needs it but it's nice anyway. The trail lasts for as surprisingly long time before they encounter anything of note- a mix of goblin and... tengu scents. Somewhat strange bedfellows normally, but the Undercity has a way of doing that sort of thing. From the look of it, there's a small tribe, maybe twenty to forty beings, trying to carve out a life from the leavings of Coalside._ _

___How sad, living like this,_ thinks Marian, but she doesn't comment aloud. _We're here for Sharran, not to start a revolution._ Still, it's not the first time she's wondered if Anders is right. These people have nothing, less than nothing, living on the scraps Nyra discards._ _

__And then Beka picks up a scent that makes her fur stand on end and her hackles rise._ _

__Wary, nervous, the party enter the darker tunnels, Beka warning them of danger at every turn. They begin to find bones, scraps of fur that likely belong to dogs and other small mammals. Something big lives here, something hungry. Around the time they find a Mabari skull, half-chewed, Hawke begins to worry if they'll find the girl alive._ _

__Varric quietly doses himself with a few admixtures, hopefully prompting Hawke to do much the same. Zevran meanwhile selects a few broken femurs to serve as weapons, ready to use his brandings to enchant them quickly. Beka, no fool, shortens the lead she and Zevran have been keeping to make sure her winter alpha is closer to her._ _

__"Could be a lot of things, but my bet is on wererats," Varric murmurs. "Maybe just some very feral ratfolk but... mabari are hard to kill." Beka's ears flick back, not appreciating being reminded of that skull, thank you._ _

__Unfortunately, it's not wererats._ _

__When they reach the end of the tunnel, they are greeted first with green eyes in the darkness -- and second, with a torrent of flame that catches some greasy puddles to provide enough light. The dragon is small, for a dragon, only about the size of a horse, but that's plenty big enough to do some damage to the group as they battle it._ _

__When the beast is finally slain, Zevran guides them through the dark to a cage made of bone, and inside, a terrified elven girl in a tattered, mussed dress. There's no sign of any dog, just her._ _

__Varric hangs back a bit, needing a few moments to treat a few burns before they set. Zevran slowly starts towards the girl but Beka, eager to reach the source of the scent she was ordered to locate, pushes past him to inspect the elf. Recalling this was a rescue and not a pursuit, she does take care to wag her tail and adopt an almost playful posture to try and make up for her massive size... and the dragon blood on her flanks and muzzle._ _

__The girl shrinks back, but she can't go far for two reasons: one, the bars of the cage she's huddled in, and two, the ruined mess that is her left leg. It looks like something with big teeth chomped down and dragged her through the tunnels -- which, to be fair, is probably exactly what happened._ _

__Hawke catches up to Zevran and passes him, squatting by the bars to present a less intimidating profile. "Hey," she says, quietly, holding out a small bottle from her pack. "Here, this should help with the pain."_ _

__Sharran grabs for the bottle rapidly, downing it in a hurry. Clearly, her wounds hurt quite a bit. Beka, seeing her tail was not enough, plops her butt down and gives her a doggy grin, complete with silly tongue lolling. It's one of her best moves and _always_ gets a coo and belly rub from winter alpha's elf mate._ _

__Zevran discretely discards the bones he was using to fight and offers a smile of his own. "I would say it's nice to met you, but given the circumstances, that might be taken amiss. So I shall simply say: hello and greeting, fair maiden."_ _

__Sharran's eyes seem to focus better after the Cure Moderate potion Hawke just handed her; her leg straightens, becoming more leg-shaped, but it bears deep scars, and it's still just a bit crooked, enough to cause a limp were she to stand. So she's been hurt for a while, then, if it's not restoring all the way; wounds usually heal cleanly with magic, only scarring if the soul has reshaped itself somewhat to accomodate the injury, as when an injury is untreated for a long time or particularly traumatic._ _

__"Merry met," Sharran whispers, using an old Elven greeting in translation to Common. "Please, can you help me get out of here?" Her eyes fall on the dog, and her expression lightens slightly._ _

__Zevran studies the faintly glowing section of the bone cage that serves as the door and rolls his eyes. "Doable but... if you could move a bit to one side or the other, it would be easier to simply break though one of the sides rather than the door." he suggests. "Well, unless you can dispel the magic lock, my hawke magique?"_ _

__"With my good old-fashioned dwarven magic, maybe," she jokes, her tone more somber than usual. "No, let me try..." She taps her staff against the door, muttering some small words, and the whole cage collapses around them. Looks like it was held together with magic. Or maybe she uttered a disintegration spell, who knows._ _

__Sharran climbs to her feet, backing up a few steps -- yes, there's a limp there. "You are...?" she asks, nervously._ _

__Zevran offers a charming smile and a wink, though he tries to keep as much overtly flirting from it as he can. "I am Zevran the Astoundingly Fanciable, and this glimpse of the divine is Lady zi'Hawke Tethras, the Champion of Coalside, the Queller of the Dead, the--"_ _

__A staff thunks Zevran on the back of the head. "It's just Hawke." she corrects, a wry smile on her face._ _

__"...I am Sherran, of Lily Vale." says the elf, licking her lips nervously._ _

__"Oh good, then you are the one we were sent to rescue. I was getting worried we'd have to fight another dragon."_ _

__"Rescue?" the pureblood asks, blinking. "....sent?"_ _

__"Your friend Helene was worried about your absence and they asked us to look for you," Zevran explains. "Slaying such a danger to the city was merely a bonus," he adds, rubbing his head dramatically and giving Hawke soulful looks of pain._ _

__Huffing softly, Beka slowly approaches her quarry. It had been hard, finding the scent in all the bad smells down here, but she'd done it. This is _definitely_ the right scent. Pleased, she gives a soft woof, careful to keep it muted as they're inside and her littermate's den mother has made it entirely clear that indoor noises are softer noises or she'll know the reason why._ _

__Sharran turns, then, studying the dog. She slowly, painfully, gets to one knee and offers her hand -- open, the fingers curled back toward the palm protectively. Beka sniffs the hand politely, a proud whuffle noise being utter at the absolute confirmation. Duty fulfilled, person rescued. Beka gives Hawke a sidelong glance, wanting permission to make friends. Hawke gives a slight nod; given the command, Beka licks the elf's hand, then nuzzles it in the age-old sign of a canine demanding scritches. Sharran concedes, moving to scratch behind Beka's ears. "Hi," she says, quietly. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" Beka huffs and her eyes close slightly. This one has clearly been trained well already._ _

__Zevran chuckles. "Oh yes, our Beka here is a decorated member of the guard and a gentle soul under all that fur and muscle."_ _

__Sharran pauses mid-scritch, looking up at Zevran. "The guard?"_ _

__"Beka is Captain Vallen's mabari companion," Zevran explains, hoping that Aveline's personal reputation will help. The guard still has some rough spots in Coalside and many have long memories. It's no longer so blatant or open- in the past, it was not unheard of for people to offer coin outright to guards to get them to hear a charge or complaint right in the stations themselves- but there are still pockets of malcontents and corruption. Most of the new blood in the guard is much, much better, but reputations are slow to change. "She's in the rosters and everything."_ _

__"Vallen," echoes Sharran, her posture only easing a little. She turns to Hawke. "You are with the guard?"_ _

__"Me? Nah. I'm just an adventurer."_ _

__Sharran relaxes a little more. "This is... pleasant," she lies, "but I wish to return home..."_ _

__"Of course, this is not the most desirable of locale, is it?" Zevran replies easily. Beka seems to regard Sharran for a moment, then sidles over to stand next to her before laying down. She huffs softly, glancing over at the elf, then over her own shoulder._ _

__Varric, wound tended, approaches then. "[Dragon actually had a captive maiden? Huh, guess you can find traditionalists anywhere,]" he mutters to Hawke in his native tongue._ _

__Sharran leans on Beka a little as she limps, trying to settle into the rhythm of her new gait as she heads for the exit. She clings to Beka's fur, shying a little from the dwarf -- who knows who _that_ is -- as they make their way back out of the sewer and into the city._ _

__As they pass through Cattown, Sharran pauses. "There is a bathhouse," she says, softly. "If you want to leave me there, I can make my way home after."_ _

__Zevran chuckles softly. "You were not the only one to have picked up a certain fragrance from our little outing," he says kindly. "And while Varric might be fine with a quick bit of magical cleaning, I for one prefer good soap and clean water."_ _

__Said dwarf snorts. "This is catfolk bathhouse-- which means mixed. I'm not taking a bath with my daughter," he says. "I'll head home," he adds to Hawke. "Pretty sure you have it from here. and I want to take some people back and double check that lair." It was young, but it was still a dragon after all. And they might be able to... clear up some missing persons cases._ _

__Hawke nods. "Please do bathe, though," she adds. "I'll not want to be smelling this all night."_ _

__"Really, it's--" begins Sharran, shifting nervously._ _

__"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Varric says as he leaves._ _

__Zevran offers a smile. "It's no problem, truly. Unless I miss my mark entirely, I'm sure Varric will be claiming that dragon corpse so the handful of copper to get the four of us cleaned up is nothing. In fact, I imagine you'll be receiving a bit of gold in a week or so, once the parts are sold."_ _

__Sharran flinches. "Must you?"_ _

__Hawke frowns. "It's a _dragon_."_ _

__Sharran says nothing._ _

__~*~_ _

__The group separate; Sharran pauses as they get to the bathhouse, letting go of Beka. "Really, I'll be fine if you two would rather be alone."_ _

__Zevran glances at her curiously. "I do rather wish to bathe but if _you_ wish to be alone, we can absent ourselves. Perhaps use the other side of the bathhouse, or another one entirely?" he offers._ _

__"I would, yes," she says, quietly, looking at the dog instead of the pair._ _

__"That's no problem then," says Hawke, too brightly. "I wonder if we can book a private room here?" she asks, lowering her tone seductively for Zevran._ _

__"Hmm, that would be rather nice," he replies with a grin. "Sharran, could we impose upon you for a small favor? Would you be willing to give Beka some assistance with her bath? I doubt she wishes to, ah, share our own booth... cubby, whatever it may be."_ _

__Sharran blinks. "Ah, I wouldn't mind."_ _

__The group split off; Marian, oddly enough, finds the need to be quiet rather... intriguing. Afterward, cuddled up in the water, she's running her hand down his chest when she asks, "What do you think is going on in Sharran's head?"_ _

__"She seems... skittish," he agrees. "Wary of exposing herself to us, and also seemed motivated to keep her distance from Varric. I wonder if perhaps her leg was not the only thing hurt. Do you think that dragon capable of taking a humanoid form?"_ _

__Marian frowns a little, thinking. "No, there's--" She cuts herself off, then, freezing in place, her finger still pressed against his chest, her breath caught in her throat._ _

__"My love!" Zevran asks, eyes darting around to see if there is anything around them to explain her actions._ _

__She stays frozen a moment more, before she catches her breath enough to whisper. "I'm alright. That just -- I was not prepared. Truly, I am fine, my love," she murmurs, only then noticing that she was speaking Elven due to the sounds being the same he'd just spoken to her._ _

__"My love, I am skilled but I normally have to make some kind of effort for that to happen," he says, trying to calm them both with a light joke._ _

__She shakes her head, pulling away from him in the pool. "No, I... realized why you were asking," she says, quietly._ _

__"Ah. I..." He winces. "I'm sorry, I did not exactly broach the idea gently."_ _

__"No, it-- I should be over this by now. I'm sorry. In any event, it's not true. Dragons that young cannot take on that form." _Though he's small enough to have-- SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP._ She winces a little._ _

__Zevran frowns at her, lifting her head up to face him squarely with one finger. "There is no 'should' in this. You will heal as you do, no faster nor slower. I should have been more careful in how I spoke of this."_ _

__Hawke gives a small smile. "Thank you," she whispers. "We should get-- blast. I didn't think of clean clothes."_ _

__"Can you not magic them? It is not as good as a true cleaning, true, but it is far better than nothing, Lady Sage" he says teasingly._ _

__She laughs, with a faint blush. "You know, it's been years since I forgot I had cantrips." _Though that was more because I used to forget I had magic at all_. "Alright, my dear, let's go get dressed."_ _

__They emerge from the bathhouse just in time to see Helene rush up to Sharran. The child appears about to embrace the young woman, but stops short, just when they would have had to throw their arms out for the hug. "You are well, I see," they say instead._ _

__Sharran gives a faint smile. "Good to see you too, Helene."_ _

__"Ah, such a sight is truly the reward worth most of all," Zevran says with a hearty sigh. At Sharran's side, Beka huffs softly, having started to move between her rescuee and the newcomer but subsiding at the strange smelling one's halt._ _

__Sharran ruffles Helene's hair, and Helene beams up at her._ _

__"Anything else we can do for you two?" asks Hawke, smiling fondly._ _

__"This was enough." says Helene, still smiling at Sharran._ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__A knock on the door to Varric's house, late in the evening several weeks later. Looking out the window beside the front door, Hawke catches sight of a familiar silhouette cast by the magelights on the street: a curvaceous pirate wench, standing with one hand on her hip. Marian's eyes go wide. "Stall," she hisses, and darts for her room._ _

__"What? Where are you-" Varric cuts off with a groan. "[Shale and dust, girl, sometimes...]" Huffing, he heads for the door to wait for Isabela to knock again. No sense in starting this farce earlier than he has to after all._ _

__Isabela knocks again, firmer this time. "Anyone home? Sea's sake, where is everyone?"_ _

__"Yeah, yeah, coming," Varric grumbles as he opens the door. "Flirty, back in town again I see. Ocean spit you back out?" He asks with a smirk._ _

__"Crusty, great seeing you again," she teases back, before her smile vanishes as quickly as it came. "Why is Marian's house up for sale?"_ _

__"Ah, yeah, that. She's getting a new one, the last one had... an infestation," he says with a shrug. "Long story- care for a drink? Hawke might be a bit."_ _

__She doesn't acknowledge it, but a bit of tension flows out of her shoulders. "Drinks? Love to."_ _

__"She's a bit tetchy today," Varric warns her, making no effort to keep his voice down, as they head for the kitchen. "Ate something she shouldn't have, been in and out of the head all day."_ _

__"Poor dear," says Isabela, raising an eyebrow at Varric as if to ask, _really?__ _

__There's a slight scraping sound, as if a window being opened, from the back of the house. Varric pauses. "..pour yourself a drink, I'll be right back," he says, heading for Hawke's room. She is not ditching on him. Her. Isabela._ _

__He pushes open the door to Hawke's room and is greeted by the sight of a half-elf's behind as she attempts to climb out the small window. "What the fuck even."_ _

__Hawke freezes, pulling back into her room as she tries to explain in Dwarven: "I was... going to come around the front and pretend I just got here?"_ _

__"No you weren't," he says flatly._ _

__She sighs. "I wasn't expecting this. I can't do this right now. I need to... figure out what to say."_ _

__"Well, I told her you have the shits, so I could ask her to swing by tomorrow when you're better," he says sweetly._ _

__Marian makes a face. "I hate you. Do it." He rolls his eyes before closing the door and heading back to the kitchen. A moment later, she comes out of the room behind him, catching up easily. "Damn you." She sounds resigned rather than angry. "Isabela, what a surprise!"_ _

__Isabela grins. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you were avoiding me."_ _

__Marian doesn't wince, to her credit. Her hand twitches, though. Varric snorts a little, pouring them all some rather sizeable tumblers of dwarven whiskey. The _good_ bottle._ _

__The three settle in the parlor; Isabela sits next to Marian, who stiffens a touch but doesn't protest. "So, how're things?"_ _

__"Ah, you know, things." Marian takes a sip of her drink, forcing it down despite the burn._ _

__Varric tries to catch Isabela's eye and give a 'delicately' sort of message._ _

__"Good, that sounds good," says Isabela, blinking. _Is she alright?_ "I had myself an interesting little adventure while I was away."_ _

__Hawke slowly settles in as Isabela talks, complete with the usual amount of bluster and brag. Her glass is empty before she decides to say anything to Isabela about how her own life has been going; she gets up to refill her glass as 'bela's story winds down. "Can I get a refill?" Varric says, quickly finishing the last inch of his tumbler- a travesty really. Good whiskey deserves to be sipped and savored, but needs must. When she brings the bottle over to refill his glass, he then gestures at the space next him seemingly nonchalantly. He also glances at 'Isabela and shakes his head just a little._ _

__The merikos elf smiles a little, her shy smile, as she sits next to him and refills both their glasses. Isabela sips her glass. _I suppose I'll have to come up with another story._ Just as she's about to compliment the drink so she can figure out what story to tell next, Marian speaks. "I... don't think I'll be up for sex tonight. I thought I should say so now, in case you..."_ _

__Isabela's smile fades. "Alright," she says, slowly._ _

__Varric sighs a little, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Do you remember Rosemary?" he asks Isabela. He won't say it all, but he's willing to help._ _

__She makes a face. "Clingy, self-absorbed, pretentious cat? Yeah, why?" Marian's face crumples, and Isabela's softens. "Oh, I.. I'm sorry. Did that... are you broken up now?"_ _

__"Yes," Varric says flatly. "It was pretty bad."_ _

__Isabela nods. "I'm sorry to hear that. Not that she's gone, of course. Good riddance to bad rubbish, eh?"_ _

__Marian nods, staring down into her cup for a moment before taking a long drink. When she lowers it again, she says quietly, "I was raped."_ _

__Isabela's face freezes in a mask of shock and horror. "...what?"_ _

__"During her heat," Varric explains, giving her arm a squeeze. "Hawke said no after a while, Rosemary didn't care." He takes a deep breath._ _

__Isabela stares for a moment, then stands, abruptly. "I-- I wish you the best of--" she begins, her throat tight as she stumbles toward the door. Marian tries, she really does, but she stifles a little whimper deep in her throat. Isabela stops as though slapped. she puts the glass down, turns, and swallows. "I need the little girl's room," she stammers, pale, as she heads for the restroom._ _

__Varric watches this for a moment, mind churning. "[Was... was she ever... do you know?]" he asks carefully in Dwarven._ _

__The half-elf takes a deep breath. "[I don't... she must have been. Oh, her husband...]"_ _

___Husband? Isabela? I wouldn't have- oh, of course. **That** kind of husband,_ he realizes. _Bastard._ "[That's... a good guess. She probably needs a bit to... push back some memories,]" he says quietly._ _

__Hawke shakes her head. "She described it to me as... her mother sold her." she says, quietly. "I don't know what that's like but I can guess it must be... Damn, I've screwed this up." She runs a hand through her hair._ _

__"No, you had to tell her. I just wish I'd known, I could have... set this up better," he says softly. "Just... give her a bit." He pauses, then gives her a supportive smile. "She stayed."_ _

__Marian nods. "She did, but..." _Love can be chains, too._ She looks stricken for a moment, then guilty. "I tried to keep quiet," she mumbles. "I didn't want to let her know she..."_ _

__"Maybe you shouldn't... have stayed quiet. She picked you, Hawke. Chose to take the risk of loving someone. Let her have that," he argues._ _

__Marian nods, slowly. The Zevran in her mind, gently reminding her about chains of love, faces off against his most formidable foe: Zevran, the one who dragged Isabela back (twice, at least, she's pretty sure by now), and laid atop her until she admitted she loved Marian. Truly, a match for the ages._ _

__As she's mulling this over, Isabela comes back. Her face is damp, as if she's just washed it, and her smile is gone, but she doesn't run. She walks into the room, her hips for once not swaying with an offer, and sits._ _

__Varric coughs a little, eyeing the pair. "Ah... is this... something I should...do I have paperwork I need to catch up on?" he offers._ _

__"No," says Marian quickly, grabbing for his hand._ _

__Isabela grabs for her glass, taking a sip in lieu of commenting. _Varric makes this... harder.. but I can't begrudge her. I'd have wanted Zevran for this, myself.__ _

__"I'm be as deaf as I can then," he offers, giving Marian's hand as squeeze._ _

__Isabela takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I'm sorry. I didn't... " She gives a self-deprecatory laugh. "Isabela's not great at this kind of comfort. I'm pretty much a selfish coward that way."_ _

__Marian shakes her head. "You're not," she says, quietly._ _

__"Look, when I... left my husband," she says, a quick glance darting to Varric as she says that. "It was Zevran that helped me. I think you might know that, by now."_ _

___Does explain more than a little, though,_ notes the 'deaf' dwarf. _Wonder how in Abbadon it happened... I can't imagine Zevran got out much of his own accord. Mid-job?__ _

__"I didn't," says Marian, her voice still soft._ _

__"Right, well, surprise. I'm full of secrets tonight." She takes another sip. "I've never done this before," she says, after a moment. "I don't know what I'm doing. I never hoped to. But." She sighs. "Zevran told me something that stuck with me, that night. He said if I didn't like who I was, I could start over, remake myself into someone I could live with. So. I became Isabela."_ _

__"...You weren't already Isabela?"_ _

__She shakes her head. "Maybe someday I'll tell you the name I was born with, but probably not. That woman is dead."_ _

___Annnnd now I want to know._ Varric stifles a groan. _I imagine she, whoever she was, is a widow, so there's that but still. I hate not knowing things. Can't make a good plan if you don't know all the variables.__ _

__Marian nods, slowly. "I... think I understand, a little."_ _

__Isabela gives another self-deprecatory laugh. "Good, because I don't."_ _

__There's an odd pause then, as both try to think of what to say. Finally, Marian says, "Rosemary went into heat."_ _

__Isabela winces. "That sounds..."_ _

___Bad? Yeah. seeing it was worse._ Varric shifts a little, glancing away. _I'm actually kind of glad you didn't though. If Hawke was still as bad as she was then now... she really would have gone out that window. A few times, maybe enough that you'd have gone out the front door.__ _

__"She wouldn't stop. She.. hurt me, over and over. I was covered in bites, bruises, scratches, hickies. I was--"_ _

__Varric's jaw twitches and he grips Hawke's hand tighter. For her, but also a bit for him. A lot for him._ _

__Isabela holds up a hand. "Not now. Please." she croaks, taking a long swig of her drink. Marian falls silent, letting her compose herself. "Let me... I want to be here for you, or whatever you need, but I don't think I can hear the details right now."_ _

___Can't blame you there, Flirty. I don't want to hear it either. Flirty... thinking maybe I should change that..._ _ _

__Marian nods, quietly. "Alright."_ _

__"What _do_ you need?"_ _

__"Time," she says, after a moment. "I'm not... having sex with anyone but Zevran yet."_ _

__Isabela nods. "Good choice."_ _

__Hawke smiles a bit. "I thought so."_ _

__Varric smiles faintly, despite himself. _Torture, mind reading and divine intervention couldn't make me admit, but... yeah, he really is._ He silently refills his and Hawke's glass, caps the bottle, then underhands it to Isabela after a warning feint._ _

__Isabela fills her glass, and there's a more comfortable silence. Finally, she sighs._ _

__"So since I assume she's already dead," she begins, but Marian's headshake cuts her off. "You're serious?" she asks, incredulous. "After what she did to you?"_ _

__"I don't want her dead," she says, quickly._ _

__Isabela snorts. "Fine, fine. We'll just take it out on her hide, blow for blow. How long did she have you?"_ _

__"A-- a week, but--"_ _

__Isabela blanches, exclaiming in a language Hawke doesn't speak: "[Merciless seas.]" _I was picturing a few hours before she escaped, maybe a day at most, but--__ _

__"Her tribe- her family declawed her first," Varric says blandly. "It means she's considered a child and an invalid both. And her womb was removed, surgically, so she doesn't go into heat anymore. Plus her entire tribe knows she angered not just a Light, but one with some very... connected friends with pull in Coalside." He sips his drink. "I have her watched. Her family mostly keeps her indoors. Out of shame, and because some of her tribe are pissed that she might have brought hellfire down on them. I would have preferred her dead, so would have Zevran, though I'm pretty sure he wanted to do it himself, but... this was... enough. And Hawke... well, she's Hawke." He gives her a fondly exasperated look. "Huge heart full of love and forgiveness, as long as it's not one of her Clan other than herself that was hurt."_ _

__"I didn't expect him to give her a choice," says Isabela, quietly. "He killed everyone who so much as touched me."_ _

__Marian pales, clinging to Varric's hand. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, the full implication of ' _everyone_ ' not even remotely lost on her._ _

__"Evidently he used his promise to not kill or cripple her to get Hawke to admit what is was," Varric explains, just as quiet. "Glad to hear things were... neatened up, on your end though. Let me know if you ever need any help with making sure though," he adds, tone carefully casual._ _

__Isabela gives a bitter laugh. "Oh, that'll never be over, I'm sure. Somehow it keeps finding ways to haunt me." She sighs. "Worth it, though. This life... it's far better than I'd ever have gotten otherwise."_ _

__"Leave me a list of names, I can at least keep an ear out, make sure you get a head's up if someone comes around Nyra for you," he insists._ _

__Isabela glances up at Varric, surprise written across her face. "...You're serious?" she asks, watching his face. _I know he has his informants everywhere, but usually he's only protective of people he **likes** , not people who deflower his daughter and then run away.__ _

__"Of course. Gotta keep minions working or they get lazy," he says easily. "Adding some extra names will keep them on their toes..." Varric gives her a considering look. "...Sea Queen." He wrinkles his nose. "Nah.," he mumbles, thinking on it some more._ _

__Isabela pulls a face. "That was a truly awful nickname," she informs him. "I found a note suggesting some of my husband's relatives are... still hoping there's a secret heir," she says, carefully. "Seems his estate has been tied up in custody battles since I... left."_ _

__"Estate money, goods, land?" he asks absently, most of his consideration on the nickname._ _

__"All of the above. About the only thing he didn't own was a ship."_ _

__"Is that because you stole it?" he asks curiously. "Saucy wench? Anyway, if you can give me a basic floor plan- maybe with Shadow helping? I can put a bounty on his place. If most of it's looted, the place burnt down... well, people will care a hells of a lot less about inheriting it."_ _

___Shadow?_ "You can't prove anything," the saucy wench points out. "And that's still awful. Why not just call me Isabela like everyone else does? It's a nickname to begin with."_ _

__"No no no. People get nicknames, it's my thing. And it doesn't work unless it's not the name you usually use," he explains to her. "And Flirts and Flirty were fine for Zevran and you when you were just... around, but you need new ones now. It's like a promotion. And prove what? I'm not taking his relatives to court, _I'm stealing all their shit_."_ _

__Isabela frowns a bit. "I liked Flirty," she protests._ _

__"Yeah, it was a good one but..." Varric wavers. "I don't know. I'll keep thinking on it but if I can't come up with better, I guess you can keep it."_ _

__Isabela smiles._ _

__Marian takes a deep breath. "So. Long story short, no sex."_ _

__Isabela winces. "Yeah, I don't blame you, Hawke." The three chat a bit more-- evidently, Saucy alone isn't good either, and neither are Pirate Queen, Daggers or, unsurprisingly, Bells-- before Isabela bids her farewell to head over to Voice. It's not like she bothers to rent a room at an inn while in Nyra these days after all. Damn waste of coin, when your... best friend has his own brothel after all._ _

__Zevran is in, thankfully, and... putting on a 'dance' in the main parlour. He's wearing a pair of tight crimson leather pants, a dapper as fuck top hat and some oil while grinding in the lap of a rugged looking dwarf woman who looks both delighted and mortified, with a coating of aroused and baffled. Around her are a group of similarly middle-aged females, may of them dwarves as well, but some other races mixed in, that are cheering them both on._ _

___Hen party_ , thinks Isabela with a small smile. She'd never had one; her wedding had been quick and formal, and it's not like she'd had anyone to celebrate with either. But in the intervening years, she'd come to love the concept. Number one, it was great for tips; number two, when ladies on the verge of perpetual monogamy got drunk, often they'd get frightened and seek something more temporary and pleasurable. Case in point._ _

__Isabela arranges herself a room for the night (if she's going to have a discount, may as well make use of it) and a cocktail, then positions herself someplace where Zevran is likely to see her as she enjoys the show. _All these wonderful experts, and I only want the madam. Isabela, you are a walking contradiction._ By this point, however, Isabela has made some friends and an impression of her own on the staff. Shortly after she seats herself, her cocktail arrives along with the doe-eyed and dainty sylph Merri._ _

__"Welcome back to Voice, Miss Isabela," she says softly, eyes downcast. "Your drink, miss?" She's not really as shy and meek as she puts on when alone with Isabela and Zevran, but she doesn't want to break character entirely on the main floor. At the same time though, she's hoping to chat a bit (and maybe be invited up later on)._ _

__"Thanks, Merri," she says, taking the aforementioned drink. "What's the latest with that Stan situation?"_ _

__Careful to position her face so only Isabela can see it, she rolls her eyes. Hard. "My brother is still being as stubborn and foolish as ever. Like the money I bring home is tainted or something or that the university would somehow know my gold came from whoring and tar and feather him," she says as she takes a seat next to Isabela and offering a shy smile._ _

__"Men," commiserates Isabela. "I don't understand how they go swanning around porking everything with a hole, then act like we're immoral for wanting to get paid for it." She sips her drink._ _

__"Well, I have to give him that much, he's insisting on waiting for his wedding night," Merri informs Isabela, sounding mystified and a touch pitying. "His girl is.. nice, but I don't see them tying the knot anytime soon, if ever, so... But I guess it's up to him. Them rather."_ _

__Isabela nods. "Do look after yourself, though. A friend of mine in a similar situation ended up stabbed."_ _

__"In the belly with a dagger, wasn't it?" Merri asks with a laugh, covering her mouth with a hand. "The madame _may_ have mentioned a story about that a few times. What was her name again?" she asks, trying to sound casual, like it's slipped her mind._ _

__"A sword, actually. Though, you know how men are -- always over-estimating the length of their weapons." Isabela smirks._ _

__Merii pouts a little, but doesn't press. She couldn't pass up the chance, but doesn't care that much about this particular story. "How about you? Anything new and exciting for the Voice's favorite sky pirate queen?"_ _

___So much,_ she thinks to herself. "Oh, yes, did I tell you when I left I was going after the Berrilium crystal? I'd tracked it down to a likely caravan heading for Glaley..."_ _

__The pair chat for about twenty minutes before Zevran arrives. He considers dropping into her lap, but her entrance had seemed a touch subdued to his eyes, so he instead sits across from her and plops his bare feet in her lap. "ma'bela, pleasure as always," he says, giving her a pouty begging look, though he flashes a smile and a wink at Merri just before._ _

__"Zevvy," she greets him, lifting her drink in salute. She takes a sip before putting it down, getting to work on his feet with her thumbs. "I just got back in town today, I figured I'd drop by."_ _

__"Oh you're a wicked pavitra," he moans softly, eyes closing as she goes to work on his feet. "Soon to be Missus Brackenwall is a sweet woman really, but her friends are demanding jackals. I think I've managed to sate them however, so as soon as my feet cease their weeping, we can head up for some privacy if you wish?"_ _

__"Always," she smirks. "I've had a horrible evening. Do you know, someone actually _turned down_ my flirtations?"_ _

__"No!" Zevran and Merri both cry out in offended outrage on her behalf. Zevran, however, is also studying the half-undine closely through half-lidded eyes. "Perhaps another cocktail for our poor rejected 'bela?" he adds with a winsome smile at Merri. She scoffs a bit at his play, but rises to fetch another drink for "us both, actually?" with another scoff._ _

__Bela smirks at Merri, watching her go. "You really do have a soft spot for damsels in distress, don't you?" she teases._ _

__"I suppose I do at that," he agrees easily. "Though I'm just as happy to rescue a languishing lad." His eyes open a little more and tick upwards with a questioning look, one with a just a hint of worry._ _

__The pirate gives a small nod of assent. "This is true," she teases. "Shall I assume business number two will be an orphanage?" Zevran nudges her with his feet, eyes sliding away. "Already starting one, are you?" she laughs._ _

__"No you shut up," Zevran says with a pout. Merri comes back with their drinks but the only chat for a few moments more before Zevran subtly implies he has to speak with Isabela about his other line of work. With that, the pair head up to Zevran's office._ _

__A small room, not much more than five foot by ten, with a desk and a pull-down bed, it's clearly more for function than form and not open for guests. "More debts?" he asks, not expecting a yes given she's not wary, just tense, but..._ _

__"The opposite, actually," she says, flippantly. She doesn't look at him. Instead she moves to the desk, looking over the woodgrain lines. Her motions, now that she's not in public, are twitchy: small jerks, frequently, as if she's unable to keep her attention on any particular thing too long, as if she's constantly seeking the next distraction._ _

__"Are... you have a spat with Hawke then?" he asks after a moment, tone gentle. Not his first guess normally, but her reply just not, combined with her not quite a joke about being turned down could... wait. Ah. "Or did she... mention her current heart wound?" he asks carefully._ _

__Isabela nods, tracing a woodgrain line with her finger. "You took care of it?" she asks, meaning, 'you killed Rosemary anyway, right?'._ _

__"I promised..." he says heavily. "Which is not to say I have not... made sure she saw me lurking about, watching her, a few times," he says with an almost feral grin. "Or left a token or two to remind her I can get to her at my leisure." He did owe her a plate of scrambled eggs after all._ _

__The pirate nods, moving to look out the tiny window, running her fingers along the sill, the bars. "I see," she says, quietly._ _

__"It... it was not the same, ma'bela. It was rape, I do not and will not accept another word for it. But it was not... malice or cruelty, but fear and stupidity that was the cause of it," he says slowly, having had more than one talk over the matter with Varric. "And... killing Rosemary would simply make Hawke feel guilt over the matter. I refuse to give that bitch such a kindness from mon faucon blessé. She deserves to be remembered with disdain, disgust and finality."_ _

__"Varric's looking for a new nickname for me," Isabela says, abruptly, with no preamble._ _

__Zevran beams at her. "Finally seeped your way past the crusty shell around his heart, did you? I am not surprised, to be honest. He is stubborn, but you have long since earned it."_ _

__"Have I?" she asks, turning to look at him for only a moment before she turns back, fidgeting with the end of her scarf. "In any event, I spoke more freely tonight than I should have."_ _

__Making sure to make a bit of noise, the half-drow moves to pull her into a loose embrace. "You have." he says firmly. "And... do you mean about...debts?"_ _

__She nods, leaning back against his chest, taking comfort from him. She doesn't often let her guard down like this, but it's happened before -- only around him, and only when she's feeling vulnerable. If she had to be remarried, she'd thought more than once, it would be Zevran or nobody. Even Hawke isn't as important to her, not yet. "Not all of it. But I had a... reaction that needed explanation." She sighs. "I told her your part in it."_ _

__"I can see how you would have felt the need to tell of your past," he says gently, rubbing her arms soothingly. "And I am very pleased you were willing to." Doesn't seem to care about her mentioning him..._ _

__"When push came to shove, I couldn't tell her," she admits. "Not all of it. I told her it was too similar, I told her I couldn't hear the details, I told her you'd taken care of me. I gave her some of the advice you gave me. But ultimately, I wasn't what she needed."_ _

__"Hush, ma'bela. Hawke... she does not _need_ any of us, save perhaps Varric. And even he... she would heal in time." He rests his forehead against her, his voice soft and loving in her ears. "But she does _want_ us. She would survive without us, but it would be a cold and empty thing. We- you- make her happier. You gave her what you could and she loves you for doing so. That is enough."_ _

__"Will you.. stay with me tonight?" _Sometimes I still dream about..._ she thinks, but doesn't add. _I don't want his pity. I'm Isabela now, I'm better than that. But...__ _

__"Even if I had to beg," he promises._ _

__She laughs. "You never have to beg me, Zevran," she teases._ _

__"Awwww, but that can be... _fun_ ," he says, his hands drifting from her arms to her... not arms._ _

__"Well, let's see how pretty you can beg," she purrs._ _

__~*~_ _

__When the morning comes, neither of them says a word about the trembling, or the way he held her close, letting her feign sleep despite the tears dripping onto her pillow._ _


	6. "You know I only got involved because of you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran is called upon to pay old debts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter has some graphic violence.

The month finishes out, and Isabela is starting to get a little itchy to be on her way but is hanging out about a little longer yet. Hawke invited her-- and Zevran-- to a new play about an aasimar knight that gets courted by an array of increasingly unlikely suitors, all the while revealing to the audience only that she's in a relationship with her dhampir squire that everyone else ignores. It's mostly a comedy, but it's also very much for adults only.

There was no promise of any kind that Hawke will be ready for a... personal showing afterwards but... it's a nice step forward. In the meantime, the two reprobates are on their way to a small cafe to met with Merrill for lunch. They're a touch late because Nox had bent over at the wrong time and... right, well, they're only like five minutes late. Ten at most.

However, when they arrive at what Zevran says is their normal table, it's empty. Zevran goes off to ask the hostess if they saw Merrill, while Isabela takes a seat... and almost sits on a rolled up bit of heavy vellum tied with a near black crimson ribbon. Isabela freezes for a moment. _Shit._ She draws a dagger, carefully slitting the ribbon without touching the scroll, and unrolling it with the point of her dagger. She kneels by the chair to do this, so she can see, but like hell is she touching that with her bare hand.

The outside edge of the scroll is painstakingly inked with a filigree of intricate designs, a mix of runes and whips of flame in a repeating pattern that seems more heraldic than magical. The text of the message is written in a flowing elegant hand, but she'd probably be more focused on what was enclosed in the scroll- a lock of glossy black hair, fine and silky. And lightly smeared with blood.

==========================================================  
To my errant little Chouchou,

I must admit that I was hurt by your leaving all those years ago. Truly, my heart was broken by your spurning of my loving care. In fact, I have spent no little time playing with new flames such as this delightful elf girl I met this very day. Such as sweet one, very... sensitive. But I am a kind Master and was very fond of our time together so I could perhaps be convinced to set her aside and give you one last chance, should you ask nicely. Should you wish to make your case, I have set up a pavilion a half hour from the city, along the river banks. I will remain only until the morning before I leave to console myself with my newest flame.

Ever your guiding hand,

Danarius  
==========================================================

Isabela stares at the note, the tempest in her heart becoming a hurricane, obliterating the island of mercy in her seas. The only thing that gives her pause is the offer to Zevran. _Hawke would take it; she'd tell me not to bother coming alone and trade herself. Has he been spending too much time with her? If I give this to him, will I lose him?_ She has no doubt in her heart: if he takes the offer, Merrill dies. _He loves her more than I do. Will he be capable of thinking this through rationally?_

She glances up, watching him come closer. Having to make a decision. Her masks are up; she's already smiling sweetly, licking her lips as if she's watching him only because he is an attractive man, nothing more. _I could get Varric, handle this quietly. He doesn't have to come. He doesn't have to see what's already been done to her._

The wind in her heart sounds suspiciously like a familiar voice, whispering. She keeps her eyes opened, but she opens her inner ears, listening to what it has to say.

_Honesty._

_Openness._

_Trust._

The voice is drowned out by a lightning-bolt of pain and guilt, but the damage is done. Isabela uses her knife to slide the paper into her bag, shouldering it and heading for Zevran with a coy smile. "Let's go somewhere private, shall we? I've got word of some hidden treasure we could use to pay off our debts," she says, flirtatiously dropping their codeword.

Zevran's eyes snap to her, a frown forming. _Now? Merrill is missing and I..._ "Our debts?" he probes carefully, a subtle stress on the pronoun.

"Yours, mostly," she laughs, breezily, her eyes tight and cold. "You know I only got involved because of you."

Zevran frowns a little, then nods. "Well, my apologies then. We are not far from Varric's... will that suit for our talk?" he asks, already turning to leave the cafe.

"Quite," she says, walking a little faster. _Don't run. It shows your panic._ "He'll want a piece of this too. In fact, you may want to get Wynne and meet me there."

~*~

It takes three hours. Three long, terrible hours, during which Zevran has to be talked out of going _right now_ repeatedly. Their plan, which none expect to work entirely, is for Zevran to go in seemingly alone. Helene, who had just 'happened' to be stopping by Wynne when they went to get the healer, has volunteered to scry on the half-drow using a bit of blood as a focus so bypass any wards, allowing the assault group (Hawke, Aveline, Andy, and Beka) to plan their attack more cleanly.

Meanwhile, Rhys would scout around in spirit form to provide Varric, Isabela and Bob a route to Merrill. They'll go in just before Zevran, invisible, to secure her so Danarius loses his hostage. Once that happens, they'll extract her back to Wynne, who will be waiting a little bit away with Helene and Silence. Rhys and Bob will then stay for extra protection while Varric and Isabela head back to help finish things up.

They find the pavilion easily enough; it's a few hours outside Nyra, but they have transportation, and it's easy to spot from above. There are three tents set around it, clearly intended for guards and servants, along with a small corral for their livestock. The main area is a over-sized square tent, nearly fifty feet across in both directions, of the sort that have sides that roll up if their owner desires a breeze; it's closed now, preventing them from seeing inside.

Rhys begins peeking around, but rather quickly confirms what the assault team already knows thanks to Helene: Merrill is in the main tent with Danarius.

Zevran approaches openly, and is quickly surrounded by a quartet of heavily armoured Oread men with serrated hand and half blades. He's dragged inside the main tent without giving much protest.

The interior of the tent is well lit -- all the better to see the stage laid out before him, clearly for his benefit. Denarius is reclining on a lounger, a huddled figure next to him on the floor. The ifrit is wearing only a loose loincloth and jewelry, no shirt; it's easy to see the gaping hole in his chest, to spy the still, rotten clump of flesh that serves as his heart. Despite this, he seems perfectly healthy, if a bit pale, with eyes filled with murky green flame. On the ground before him lies a female elf with short black hair, naked and whipped bloody. Zevran's own heart feels like its been crushed. _No. No..._

He lifts his head, just a little, but it's enough. He spies Merrill, naked, gagged, bound with wire that cuts into her wrists and ankles, but alive, unharmed. Watching him, watching the other elf. There's a gleaming metal figure, a golem of some alloy or another, next to her but all he can see is her... and the look of deep pain and despair in her eyes.

~*~

In the clearing with Helene, Wynne sucks in a harsh breath. "That..." she has to swallow. "That's a mithril golem. Very powerful and... tough. Don't use direct magic but weapons won't be very effective either. And... he's a lich now. Expect a lot of very powerful necromantic and... combat magic."

~*~

As the half-drow reels, taking all this in, Danarius continues to speak to his captives, as if he hasn't noticed Zevran's arrival -- or as if he's beneath noticing. "No? You still don't want to help her? Ah well, such selfishness is only to be expected really," the lich says with a kind smile. Without any change in expression, he flicks a finger, causing another gash to appear on the slave at his feet. "Do speak up whenever you're ready to take her place," he adds idly.

"Danarius," Zevran growls, hatred roaring through him. "Let her go. Damn you!"

"Ah... my little Chouchou did muster the honesty to return," is the delighted reply as the lich finally turns to look at Zevran. _Almost exactly as I recall him. My finest work, perhaps even over the rites I have done on myself._ "And in joy of this admission, I shall grant you this plea." Snapping his fingers Danarius causes the bindings on the elf at his feet to fade. The slave heeds the cue and begins to crawl away towards the exit, careful not to rise off the ground.

"That's not who--"

"Oh, such disregard for the suffering of another, just because you haven't fucked this particular one?"

Zevran falls silent, guilt slashing into his fury.

_And there it is, that softness, that **weakness** that will allow me to shatter his soul once and for all. It might reduce his... flair, but preventing another rebellion will be worth the slight loss._

~*~

"I'll... I'll try and match the lich, I'm sure Zevran will be right there as well," Aveline says voice a little weak. "Andy, Beka, Hawke, take out the golem. Remember, we'll have help coming, so stall if you have to,"

~*~

"You... you said you would..." Zevran begins, voice cracked and rough.

"And so I just did, just as you asked me now," Danarius cuts in smoothly. "One is much the same as another after all... it is not as if elves are hard to find, especially ones as... malleable as these two."

"I didn't mean her! Let Merrill go, you fucking coward!"

Danarius doesn't bat an eye, just nods. "Very well, if you didn't mean to spare her," he says agreeably. With a single gesture, he sends a bolt of festering black at the crawling elf female, who begins to wither and seize violently. _Hmmm. I do rather like that spell... Far too fast, true, but it has such a wonderful visual impact._

Behind them, Merrill begins to sob weakly, clearly exhausted and drained but still heartbroken.by the callous murder. Zevran gasps, reeling as if stabbed, each tear burning him like acid even as the guilt of getting the slave killed for his careless words consumes him.

"Really, what did you expect, my little pet? What else could one as hollow, as tainted, as you do? Did you think you could _save_ her? Save _anyone_? You have nothing. Are nothing."

Unseen by all, Merrill's bonds slowly begin to fray, strand by strand.

Zevran slowly sinks to his knees. "I am no-one. I obey. I am hollow," he intones in Elven, voice lost and flat.

A smile grows on the lich's face. "Well... that was quick... perhaps too quick. Let's be sure you're going to be a good little flesh toy, hmmm?" Rising, he gestures the guards away and steps closer to Zevran, about five feet away and nearly on top of the now mummified corpse of the elf woman, wisps of black smoke coming from the ground at his feet partially obscuring the remains "Strip." _Let me see, let me be certain you are still intact, my work unruined._

Zevran hesitates a second, but then beings to strip. His movements are jerky at first, but grow more... construct-like as he progresses. Once he's clearly obeying, Danarius laughs softly. "Very good... but not yet enough. When you are done, I want you to fuck my elf slave. Then fuck your elf. And make sure she enjoys it, hmmm?" Zevran sways, face ghastly pale, as he finally shucks off the last article of clothing. _Yes.... every line, every curve, just as I left it. Flawless. And now we see if the vessel is still worthy to bear my work upon it._ Eyes empty, the halfbreed slowly staggers towards the corpse as ordered. Danarius, not entirely a fool, steps back a little to give a bit of room.

"...I think not, Master," Zevran whispers just as he kneels by the dead elf. Before the lich can react, the golem lets out a blare of alarm, noticing that the captive it was tasked to watch has vanished. Before it can check the area, it rocks back as if slugged by a massive fist.

Behind Zevran, the calvary arrives with a shout of Celestial and a veritable fucking blizzard, causing the lich to glance away from the half-drow for a vital second. "I have more than you think," Zevran says with blazing eyes, his hand already inches from Danarius' chest.

~*~

The _Sky Siren_ is unique among airships in that it appears to be a sea ship, flying in the sky solely via spellwork laid into its timbers. It was a small ship, to keep weight down; the sails catch the wind just as easily in the sky as they do in the sea. They've had to be taken down, or else the updraft from the flaming wasteland that was once Denarius' camp would send it soaring into the skies.

At least Nyra is safe. It'll be hard for the flames to spread far, given how soggy and cold much of the nearby ground is.

~*~

Marian won't let go of Merrill. She shoots longing looks in Zevran's direction, but it's Merrill's hand she clings to, Merrill she bundles into a warm blanket in Isabela's galley, Merrill she covers in terms of endearment and kisses, Merrill she cradles close. Wynne is quiet, closed in on herself. Strangely, Varric is with her, gently resting a hand on her's as they just... process. Aveline is talking quietly with Andy, who had vomited repeatedly as soon as the fight was over, Beka pressed between them to share comfort.

And Zevran is standing alone, staring at his hand, still stained with greenish black ichor, with Isabela hovering nearby, trying to figure out how to approach him.

Merrill had been nearly catatonic when they first got her out, her only action to cling to Wynne and weep silently. The triumph return of the party had slowly prompted her return from inside her head.

"Hawke...is.." Merrill reverts to her native language, too tired for Common; her whisper is scratchy and raw, her throat torn by screaming through her gag. Even being healed hadn't fixed it entirely. "Where is... our shining moon?" She can't look, not yet, can't make herself take her face from where it's pressed against Hawke's chest to ensure she can't somehow see that poor girl being tortured again.

"It's okay," the hero whispers. "It's okay now. You're safe. He can't get to you." She hates this, hates the idea that that horrible thing could ever drive a wedge between her Flower and her Warrior, but more than that, she hates the idea of whatever he'd said to Merrill sinking in, whatever he'd done to her sticking.

And she can't bring herself to look at Zevran's face.

Isabela wrings her hands, chewing on her lip. "Zevran," she says after a moment, trying to sound casual. "Do you want some water to clean your hand with?" _That or sex, that's about all I've got._

"I...am...no..ma'bela?" he asks blankly, his face turning slightly towards her but his eyes staying perfectly locked on his hand.

"S-safe? No- I- he- why can't- where is he?" Merrill asks, voice growing with concern. She begins to squirm faintly, as if wanting to move but not being able to muster the will. "We- we have to get him back,"

Hawke holds her tightly. "He's safe. That thing that hurt you is dead. Everyone is safe. You can rest now, my beautiful one, my beloved, my heart's treasure."

Merrill bursts into tears, rocking against Hawke. There are words mixed into it, but most of them are too tear-filled to understand. 'Girl' comes up the most often, along with 'help' and 'pain.'

Isabela licks her lips, nervously. "Here, I can... let's get that cleaned up." She reaches for his arm, intending to take hold below where the gunk cuts off.

Zevran tenses a moment, but relaxes just as quickly. "...yes ma'bela," he whispers.

Isabela tugs Zevran toward the Decanter of Endless Water she'd had fit into place here in the galley, holding his hand over the bucket that's placed beneath before tugging at the stopper. Carefully, she cleans off his hand, still not saying anything.

Zevran placidly allows her to clean him off. As she works, his gaze drifts from his hand to her's, though it twitches to her face from time to time.

Merrill calms enough for her words to be intelligable. "Is- can-" A break for broken sobs. "heal her? Wynne... so much... blood, she needs.."

"She's dead," Hawke whispers, holding Merrill close. "We couldn't save her. I'm so sorry, I couldn't... I'm not a very good hero," she whimpers.

Merrill begins to weep harder, knowing in her heart that poor nameless girl would never get the same offer her guiding star did. Knowing that, after what was a life of horror and pain, she would never know freedom or joy. But at least... well, maybe she is free... Hawke... Hawke had said Mileen was kind as well as wise. So maybe... maybe that's enough.

"H-hero," Merrill argues, voice a mumble,. "m-mmmy hero."

Isabela swallows. "So, that... was rough," she begins, awkwardly, as she caps the decanter and dries Zevran's hand.

Zevran slowly turns to stare directly at her face. He is silent a moment, then begins to laugh. It starts weak and broken, then builds until it is gasping and just a little manic, but when it finally finishes, he's leaning against Isabela with life back in his eyes. Wounded, hurting and shadowed, but life.

"Never change, ma'bela," he rasps.

Isabela wraps her arms around Zevran, holding him gently. "I don't plan on it," she says, her voice quiet but her tone clearly relieved.

"...is... did everyone... come out okay?" he asks after a moment. He can't remember much after that first strike. The feel of his hand ripping out that hunk of festering goo and desiccated gristle. His M- that foul creature stumbling back with a howl. Someone- Aveline?- coming in a blaze of furious radiance to attack alongside him. Noise and motion, filled with flashes of cold and screaming black energy.

Beating Danarius to death with his own rotting heart, shoving it down his throat after the lich had... someone, he can't recall who or how, had been cut him in half.

Howling with delight and sickening joy as those eyes faded, the fire gutting out.

Without warning, he hunches over and vomits into the basin.

Isabela lets him go then, taking a step back to let him vomit. "Yes," she says, as he bends over the basin. "Uh, except..." She gestures helplessly at Zevran himself.

Hawke continues whispering soothing things, rubbing Merrill's back. She doesn't look at Zevran. She doesn't look at anyone but Merrill. _Is this how monogamous people feel?_ some small traitorous part of her brain says. _Does this mean you love Merrill more than Zevran, just like Zevran over Rosemary? Shut up,_ she tells herself. _You can only do one thing at a time._

"W-what," Merrill wriggles away, just a little, to see what that sound was. "Is- is he- Zevran," she tries to call out but her voice is still too raw for any volume.

The half-drow sags over the basin, breathing heavily. He tries to say something, but has to put a hold on that as he gags again.

Hawke clings to her, trying to press her head back to Hawke's own chest, to spare her. "Shh, my love. It's alright." _Please be alright._

"Nno,," Merrill mumbles. "Needs us."

Isabela runs a hand through her hair, looking up; her eyes dart around the galley, as if looking for a rescue. No help coming from the Hawke quarter, clearly. _Wynne? Andy?_

Catching Isabela's desperate gaze, Varric leans to to Wynne, who nods slowly and rises. But instead of heading for Merrill or Zevran, she heads for Aveline and Andy. Varric, however, does head for Hawke and Merrill. "Hey," he says gently as he reaches them.

Hawke looks up, blinking back tears as best she can. "[Papa]," she says, quietly.

Moving a bit so he can try and look at Merrill's face, he offers a wan smile. "Hells of a day, huh, Moonbeam," he says softly, getting a tiny nod. "You need anything?" he offers.

Merrill sniffs. "ssshinning m-m-moon," she mumbles into Hawke's chest.

Varric frowns, glancing up at Hawke. 'What?' he mouths, puzzled. Hawke steels herself, taking a deep breath and clenching her teeth a bit. Then, she darts her eyes toward Zevran, mostly as a signal to Varric. "Ah." Varric nods slowly. "He's... a little shocky right now," he says slowly, then quickly continues at Merrill's pained whimper. "Flirty is taking care of him, promise. Getting a drink and... you want me to see if he... is ready to come over?"

Hawke swallows. "Only if you want to," she says quickly to Merrill. "I'm sure he's okay. You don't have to worry about him right now."

Merrill looks up, a little hurt by what sounds like... "Did... why wouldn't... he's our moon," she says, voice thick with pain and confusion.

"I won't let him hurt you," the half-elf says, quietly, smoothing down Merrill's hair. "You don't have to be afraid."

Merrill stares at her. "Hurt... isn't... isn't _it_ dead?" she asks, fear creeping into her eyes and voice now. "Did- did _it_ escape, we have to-"

" _It_ is dead. It won't hurt anyone either." Hawke's voice comes out as a low growl, but she coughs, trying to force it back into a soothing tone. "You're okay."

Varric glances between the two, trying to put things together. "The lich is dead, the golem is slag," he offers slowly.

"P-promise?" the elf whispers.

"Clan's honor," he promises. "Helped burn them both myself, and Wynne blessed the corpse first to make sure it stays dead for good."

Hawke nods. "The clan is safe. We even burned the ground they camped on, just to be extra sure."

Merrill sighs softly as she rests her head against Hawke. "....it... it hurt them so much. It.. killed that girl. Just because she looked like me. All to hurt our moon." Her words are slow and soft, but she seems to have shifted to a more... somber, reflective stage of her pain.

"It wanted him to hurt you, too," says Hawke, gently.

"I know," she whispers. "It told me. Over and over again. While it.. hurt her. Told me that I had confused its... pet. How I would be the tool used to break his soul. H-how it would grind our moon into nothing, hollow him out and use me to do it. How I w-w-would like it." She swallows, hard. "It lied."

"It did." Nothing can stop the chill from reaching Merrill now; even Varric's catching more of it than he'd like. Even Isabela gives a shiver, across the room. Zevran shudders as well, but... cold means something else to him than most, perhaps, because he feels just a little bit of comfort in the chill. Taking one last drink, he forces himself to look over at... at...

"I wouldn't let _it_ ," Merrill assures Hawke, and herself. "I'd never let him.. never let our moon do that. I'd call M-m-moe back in first, I swear it."

"Never that," Hawke hisses. "Merrill. Things are never that hopeless. I will always come for you. All you have to do is survive, is keep yourself in one piece, and trust me to save you."

"I know," she says simply. "You'd find me under the screaming sky. And l-l-love me even with tendrils."

Varric hisses softly, noticing Zevran staring at them with a sickened expression, guilt and shame and love twisting in his eyes.

"I wasn't going to let him get his claws into Zevran, either. I was right there, the whole time. We only let him go in to get you free." Hawke presses a kiss to Merrill's cheek, still not looking up at Zevran.

"...your plan was better," Merrill admits, after considering that.

"Yeah, that's putting it lightly," Varric agrees. "Do you want anything, Moonbeam? Water, whiskey, some bread or something?"

She considers it a moment, taking deep breaths of Hawke's scent. "...water? And our moon. And Wynne. And Bob and Silence." So water and everyone she cuddles basically.

"Alright, I'll be right back, Moonbeam."

Isabela places a hand on Zevran's arm, trying to be comforting. "Are you alright?" she asks, quietly.

"They're alive. And safe," he whispers. "I am well." His eyes close as he tries to focus on that thought instead of.. anything else.

Varric heads over to Wynne and Silence to explain Merrill's request. As he leaves, Bob drifts out of hiding in the rafters. He's actually not all that fond of this 'cuddling' nonsense, but... well, his partner rather deserves a bit of fuss, he supposes. Mourning the ruffling of his fur sure to come, he lands next to the two ladies and is instantly yanked into the middle of them by the elf. Yep, it's going to take at least an hour to groom his far back right.

Hawke narrows her eyes a little. _And where was **he** this whole time? Not rescuing Merrill or getting me. I had to find out from Zevran._

Isabela strokes his arm gently. _What do I even say here?_ "I'm glad," she says, after a moment. "I don't know if I could have done that." Zevran leans against her touch a little, eyes still closed, silent.

Silence pads over to the two ladies and lays down next to them, head on Merrill's leg. Wynne is a touch slower, but she sinks into the chair Andy quickly darted over to put in place for her and then reaches to take her student's hand.

Merrill seems to relax just a little bit more with each addition. By the time Wynne is in place, Varric has reached Isabela and Zevran. "Need some bread or something for your stomach, Shadow?" he asks, using elven still.

"That... might be nice, yes," he says slowly.

Varric nods. "...Moonbeam mentioned she wouldn't mind if you wanted in on that hug-puddle over there," he adds, causing the half-drow to go so still his breathing halts.

Isabela releases Zevran's arm. "You should go," she urges him. _It's clear he wants to, and I'm so bad at this._

Zevran finally sucks in a ragged breath. "I- I... ma'bela, I... come," he finally says, groping for her hand. "Please, I-"

Isabela takes his hand. "Alright," she says quietly. "I'm here."

As they approach, Hawke looks up, her eyes red from crying. The air gets colder every step they get closer to her; when she sees the look on Zevran's face, she crumples, sobbing into Merrill's hair. Merrill shifts as Hawke does, moving to make the embrace more mutual. Doing so allows her to notice Zevran and her pleading expressions causes him to ignore any doubt and melt into their arms. His hand, remains gripping Isabela's hand, unforgotten. Hawke finally pries one arm off Merrill, opening it to wrap around Zevran. "I'm so sorry," she whispers to him, holding him close.

"I... knew what I would have to do, how I would... have to... be, to stall well before I went in there..." he says haltingly. "Saving her was more important than--"

Merrill growls softly before snapping, "You are not nothing!" she hisses. "You are not hollow or a tool or just flesh and that piece of festering bile and shit can go to the hells with his so-called mercy." She frees a hand to jab at him, clearly incensed by his slight implication he was worth less than her or anything of the sort. "I love you! Hawke loves you! Isabela loves you! Varric and S-Seli and Andy and Wynne and-and Bob loves you! You're Zevran the A-A-astoundingly Fanciable and-and you belong _with_ us and not _to_ anyone!"

Zevran gapes at her silently, clearly overwhelmed by all of this. "What she said," says Hawke, quietly. "Merrill... I don't know if he's... This is something Zevran deals with. I don't think you need to shout at him. He knows." She shoots him a look. _He'd **better** know._

I know," is the sad reply. "He... it... the lich, it told me. Over and over again. Told me... I should learn it. For later, if Zevran... fails. Or doesn't come."

Zevran snarls, eyes a flat grey instead of his normal beautiful hazel. "I would have never let _him_ do that to you, not ever. I would- I would- anything. Everything."

"Just as we would for you, my shining moon," she says softly, the hand she was poking him moving to stroke his cheek. "You are loved and..." her lips tremble. "I could... I w-want to hold you very m-much right n-now if you-"

He's wrapped around her, around them all, before she finishes. "My loves, my flower and hawk and beauty," he breaths softly.

Something deep inside Hawke shatters. She pulls them both close, a light hoarfrost forming atop their garments as she whispers fervently to them. "Never, never, never, I'll never, he'll never, never, never let that happen to you, never, never."

Coming back, Varric sets the bread and water he'd fetched down on a nearby table and instead retrieves a blanket for them all. The water is already freezing over by the time he drapes it over the trio plus two. Wynne offers a smile to the dwarf as she gently rubs Merrill's back.

Merrill burrows back into her two loves, grieving and pained but healing. Lulled by the sound of Hawke's heartbeat, she starts to drift off. Zevran is still to tense to relax as she has, instead just whispering soft words of love. To his Voice, to his Comfort and to his Joy.

~*~

It's not that she _can't_ sleep, per se. It's that when she closes her eyes, she hears things, sees things, remembers things. She could sleep, if she was willing to suffer for it. Right now, she's not. _Maybe I should go to my newest clinic, wheedle a restorative out of whoever's on night shift, and just stop sleeping._ It's a bad idea and she knows it but...

em>Papa keeps restoratives, she thinks idly, staring up at Merrill's ceiling. _Maybe I should go out, enjoy myself, and then stop by on the way back, pretend I've slept._ It sounds like a bad idea, but it sounds better than staring at the ceiling for hours and admitting to everyone that she was weak, she couldn't handle being their support anymore. That something was damaged in her and she didn't know how to put it back together.

_What did you expect, my little pet?_

_Make sure she enjoys it._

_Rosemary raped you, abused your kindness, and broke your trust._

_Now I have given you better than he._

_I am no-one. I obey. I am hollow._

Quietly, she slips out of the bed, moving Zevran's casual arm to rest atop Merrill's torso. _They can keep each other safe while I clear my head._

She pauses to glance in the mirror, hating the haunted expression on her face. Her hand drifts to her left inner thigh, tracing the semi-circle scar there, then up to her chest, tracing the pucker in the center. _Damaged._ She knows it's a bad thought to have, that it's unfair, but she doesn't, can't, quite stop herself from thinking it. She turns from the mirror, pulling on her tunic, her leggings, her coat. She takes her staff, pulling on her breastplate and turning it into a fashionable corset with a swipe of her hand. Finally, she puts up her hood, creeping out into the night.

The cool air is refreshing, helping to clear her head. The attempted mugging, not so much, but the fight helps her forget her worries, at least for the few minutes it takes her to kick some goblin ass and keep going. After that, she's left alone as she wanders the streets.

_It was a night like this I fought the dog lords,_ she thinks, remembering.

_And a night like this I fought Memento Mori, and lost Mom._

She wanders, not paying too much attention to where she's going. Shortly before sunrise, her feet take her to Varric's, and she smiles faintly, stifling a yawn. _I wonder if I can sneak in, steal a dose of restorative, and sneak out again?_

Varric has always been a light sleeper. Having moved into a nicer neighborhood, having the coin to instead wards and enchanted locks... none of that has really changed that fact. As quiet as Hawke tries to be, he tenses almost the moment his front door opens. Footsteps down the hall are enough to cause his eyes to open and the door to his study opening has him out of the bed and slipping out of his room in seconds.

He ghosts down the hall, Bianca our and ready and peers through the door... and sees his daughter, rooting around in his potion cabinet like a teenager looking for their parents' booze. "You're not bleeding, so you're not here for a cure potion," he observes, sealing Bianca back away. He's rather glad he sleeps in trousers and a light shirt so he doesn't have to ruin this opening.

Hawke starts, looking guilty as she glances up at him. The bags under her eyes, the haunted, guilty look... yeah, that doesn't bring back bad memories. "Papa," she greets him. "I was just..."

She's greeted by a flat stare, then a soft sigh. "Go out to the kitchen and put on a kettle. I'll mix up some herbal, it'll be less rough on your system," he says gruffly. Not as effective, of course, but it'll keep her functional for the day. Mostly. Hawke's always been terrible with even a little fatigue wearing on her.

She winces. "Sure. Sorry. If I could sleep I would have," she admits, as she straightens and heads for the kitchen.

"I know," he says softly as she leaves. FIve minutes or so later, he joins her out in the kitchen. "Gonna be a bit bitter," he warns her. "Might want some honey for after. And it's not going to last the whole day, you'll want to turn in early tonight." He hesitates, then adds, "this isn't the first troubled night of late, is it?"

She shakes her head, feeling her hair shift as she does. _That's getting long. I should get it cut again,_ she notes, absently.

"You could... I could make some to relax you a bit. Not powerful, but could help a bit. Or... if it's real bad, maybe Wynne could spell you under for a night. Not healthy for long-term but could help to get you back to where you can think clear and... work for a real solution," he suggests slowly, tone implying he means 'talk to someone about what's bothering you.'

She sighs. "There's nothing wrong with me, Varric," she says, quietly. _I'm just damaged_. "I just needed to think for a while."

"Most people try to do their thinking during the day," he points out. "Somethings keeping you up."

_I am no-one. I obey. I am hollow._

_What did you expect, my little pet?_

She looks away, taking a shuddering breath. "Just stupid things."

"Clearly not, if they're tearing you up like this," he points out, heading for the cold box to see if there's any leftovers he can heat up or something.

She sighs. _I guess it's the downside of being intelligent and perceptive... things stay with me._ "Do you ever..." she begins, then breaks off. "No, probably not. You're stoic. Nothing gets to you."

Very pointedly keeping his face in the icebox, he comments, "you really think I didn't weep when you died?"

She stills, her hands coming to a rest on the tabletop. "No," she says, after a moment, her voice quiet. "I wouldn't expect... But that was different. I was..."

"Or when Aveline came back with you in her arms? When Moonbeam came to me, weeping and confused about how she heard Shadow muttering in his sleep about killing a child? When... Wynne told me about her husband and how he... passed?" He shrugs a little, not bothering to pretend he's still looking for anything but not turning around anyway. A deep breath. "Or when my mother died?"

"Varric," she says, quietly, her heart overflowing with compassion. She wipes the beginnings of tears away from her eyes.

"I'm good at hiding it. Good at... putting it away or ripping it about to think it over cold. But it always... I have to deal with it eventually. So do you," he says after a moment. "It's not always good, is it? Being this smart. Being able to remember everything and understand what you know."

"I remember everything," she whispers. "Especially things people say to me. The looks on their faces. It haunts me, it comes back at night to remind me all the ways I've failed, all the ways they've been hurt that I couldn't stop."

"It's plans that haunt me. My brain can't... can't not try to think of what I missed. After it's over, when I know the solution, my brain constantly points all the clues I missed, the hints I overlooked or the leads I could have followed but didn't. All the ways that I should have been smart enough to have done better." He sighs, closing the cold box but still not turning around, needing that little bit of distance for this talk. "Used to... focus on numbers and reports. Drown it out with new data, new facts. Maybe a few whiskey to dull it down. Stopped working -- or rather, started needing more whiskey that I was comfortable with needing -- after... Anders. Had things I cared about more, things I... loved then. So the plans needed to be better but... they weren't. So...more mistakes, more missed clues."

"You couldn't have known," she says, quietly. "You barely interacted with Anders."

"Yeah, I know. Well, most of me does. But the imp in my brain just loves to whisper how I _could_ have known... if I paid more attention to you. Asked more about you, about what you were doing and... and, and, and. Always and." He rubs his face, pressing the pads of his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "And I _did_ know you. Should have known you better than to... fuck. Should have been smart enough to have come up with a better plan than 'shoot him in the face a lot and hide the body' even if I'd never met either of you. Not my finest moment, to say the least."

"I love you." She watches him, voice soft, from the table. "It hurt when you... but we got through it. That's the important part."

"And they love you. _We_ love you. And we got through it, all of us together. That's the important part," he echoes back at her.

She sighs. "Zevran will never be fully healed," she whispers. "Merrill loses more of her innocence every day. And I... I'm not as good as I once was. Everything's becoming more tarnished, more fragile, more damaged. It's like I'm raging against the passage of time, trying desperately to halt the flow, to hold back the years. It's an impossible quest. I cannot, can never, save them. They will always suffer." Her voice gains a bit of strain to it as she goes on, a soft croak she cannot get rid of no matter how hard she swallows. It's like the moisture in her throat has all fled out her eyes.

"Zevran has made a home for himself. He has three woman who love him and a bevy of employees that think he's wonderful. Gods, Hawke, he went from a slave to being happy, in love and successful at something he loves doing." He turns around finally, giving her a hard look.

"Merrill? No friends, no family, her tribe hated her and feared her in turn. Again, two people who worship her, a mother in Wynne, and she and Seli have been putting their heads together on some kind of project lately that has them raring to go and dancing on air. Aveline went from an archon with red blood and a frozen heart to a damn fine woman who's not just content with her duty but fucking alive again. Isabela? On the run, no-one and nowhere to be safe in except an assassin she hadn't seen in years. Now? Trusting people and willing to love."

He pauses then, nodding slowly. "That's the thing, I think. Love. Sure, everyone is... a bit scarred. A little chipped on the edges. But that's life. People get hurt. Shit goes wrong. But they have love and... you're where it all started. Even with a crusty dwarf that had a thousand buddies but not one friend. Relatives, but no family. You make the tears and blood worth it."

She gives him a wavering smile through her tears. "It hurts," she whispers. "It hurts so damn bad, every time. To hear Merrill say the things Zevran used to believe... to see him put himself through that again, for her, because I asked him to... How can I not feel I've failed them? Gods, Varric, I'm so afraid I'll be too late. That one day I won't save one of them."

He takes a deep breath. "One day... you won't be. That's... just how it is. Eventually, one of us will be just a little too slow, a little too unlucky... or just a little too mortal. Wynne's human and getting pretty old. She's still got a decade or two in her most likely but sooner than you think possible, time will pass." He glances down for a minute. "But... that can't be all that matters. You can't stop all their woes. You're a hero, yeah, but even Bastion doesn't stop all pain. Vangal doesn't protect every innocent. You try, do your best and make the good you can find worth the rest."

"Is it worth it?" Her voice is scarcely audible. "Even when you lose them?"

"I was still a child -- even if I would have disagreed at the time -- when my mother died. So it wasn't like I could really have done anything to stop a cave-in or... Still blamed myself, still had thoughts about what if I had talked to her a bit longer that morning. Or maybe if I had... anyway." He shifts uncomfortably. "It hurt. Still does a bit, when I think on it. But... Wouldn't have not had her. The time I had before was worth the pain after. So yeah. It's worth it."

She nods, slowly. "I was... screwed up, for a long time, when Bethany died. Losing Merrill would be... unfathomably worse. And I'd still have to be there for Zevran, for Isabela, while I dealt with it. I couldn't just shut down and push everyone away like I'd want to."

"I... yeah. My father did that. Went to work, come home and just... he went through the motions but didn't... I think that's why Bartrand does what he does. He keeps... he decided that if he was good enough, successful enough, Father would snap out of it to praise him. I think... I think it would have better, if we'd... shut down together. Or well, not shut down I guess, but... you don't have to be strong for them. Grieve _with_ them. Show you love them and still want them and even need them, but don't hide your pain," he says, each word a painstaking effort. "Honestly, asking Wynne how she handed Rhys dying would be better than me. She... she came through that pretty well, thanks to her sister and parents-electi."

Marian is quiet for a moment -- not reflecting, but wrestling with the feelings in her heart, struggling to put them into words. Finally, she looks down at the table, taking a deep breath. "Wynne is... wonderful. She's good at bandaging up hurts and making you feel comfortable and loved. But I don't want... I could have just woken her, of course, but... I wanted you. You're my..." She gives a small laugh. "My bedrock. When I was nothing, you believed in me. I've never had to prove anything to you, and you always tell me the unvarnished truth, even when it hurts. So. I wanted to hear it from you, so maybe I could believe it."

Varric coughs a little, ducking his head and scratching at the morning scruff on his neck to try and hide a bit of this blush forming. "Suppose that makes sense. A lesser detailed book written in easier prose can be more trusted than a better researched one that's a touch more distant," he replies gruffly in a rather suspect metaphor. He clears his throat again. "But... there you go. I still ask Mileen to pass on my... prayers to my Mother every year. And it still hurts. Still worth the pain, to have had her. To remember her hugs and... the scent of rye bread on Silvaday or her deep, gentle voice scolding me as she taught me my letters. And it'll be better for you. You have so many loved ones and... they'll be there for you. You won't grieve alone. Probably not even if you tried."

"Thank you," she says, quietly. "I'll try to remember this next time old ghosts start haunting me." She shudders, then, remembering.

"I... sometimes it helps me to plan something. To drown the imp and memories of old plans not quite good enough. Doesn't matter about what, half the time it's bullshit plans, gold veins in soft mud dreams. How I would go about organizing the construction of a castle, or breaking into the Lantern or setting up my own government. Sometimes, if it's really bad, I'll try and... refine an old plan that _did_ work, try and point out to myself that I can plan a good plan." He smiles a bit. "And sometimes I just do ledger until my whole brain is numbers. Or share a glass of whiskey with this bratty half-elf girl that keeps popping up to chat."

"Sometimes I have sex," she admits, then blushes as the obviousness of the statement hits home. "It's hard to think, during, I can let go and not go over the same old hurts. But they come rushing back, after. And anyway, I'm having less sex, uh, nowadays." She goes quiet again.

"Yeah... guess that... would work too..." He says, managing to stop the shudder. He just... can't see the appeal. Of any of that. Ever. "Time helps. Even people like us... memories dim, even if they never fade away entirely. And you get more memories, to drown it out. Maybe... you're doing that meditation stuff with Aveline still, right? Maybe... work that in? Make a mantra or something, words you _should_ remember, want to remember."

_Words I should remember..._ "Like 'He stabbed you in the gut with a sword?'", she teases, a small hint of a smile on her lips. "Or, Honesty. Openness. Trust. Some days the clan words are the only thing that get me to open up, when things are bad. Like... Rosemary. Every time I stopped and restated something, your words were pounding at the inside of my skull, demanding that I be honest with myself, that I tell the truth."

"[Of course they are, I said them, and am I not the sublimely witty Varric?]" he replies in Elven with a grin that remind her of... did... did he just do a _Zevran_ impersonation? A disturbingly good one?

Marian laughs aloud, in surprise as much as pleasure. "[You are a treasure,]" she teases. Sure, she means the words, but it's Zevran who needs to hear them over and over. Varric prefers her not to take that gushy tone.

He smiles at her a little, pleased his joke had gone over well. "Dwarves aren't treasures, we have treasures," he gives her a pointed look that implies exactly what he means even if his words weren't obvious enough.

She smiles, switching languages effortlessly. "You asked me once if I really believed I was worthless, that I wasn't good enough. Do you re-- of course you remember. It was when you told me you and everyone else believed in me, so if I respected your opinions I should believe in me too." She ducks her head a little, blushing in shame. "I.. don't feel that way anymore. I thought you might like to know."

"See? Even imps can learn- or least be shut up," he says softly, his approval and pride clear in his eyes if not his words. "Just need enough good voices to drown them out long enough to make it stick. And, if nothing else, you're entirely your father's daughter in having a right proper amount of stoneheadedness."

"That's true," she admits. "That might be the only virtue I came with before we met." She smiles at him, only a hint of embarrassment left. "I am sorry I made you cry, though," she says quietly. "Not sorry enough to have left you... like that... But sorry."

He gives that a moment, needing the time to find the words. It's easier when they don't matter. When he's just spinning a tale or explaining a problem. Weaving a lie or barking out instructions? Easily thought, easily spoken. He sees the problem, the goal, constructs a plan and finds the role best suited to give the words. The mask and voice needed to ensure the goal is met.

But he can't do that with Hawke. He did it once, just once, and it's the biggest regret of his entire life. For her, he'll only speak as Varric. Even if the plonker fumbles his words and can't speak of emotions or tears without sounding like a rock licker.

"Given... given I would have done the same- was _planning_ to do the same, or at least risk it... I can't blame you for it. I don't want to bury you. I... merikosi or not, I probably will someday. That's just... part of being a greater long-lived race. But dammit, I want every last day I can get first. So... you risk yourself and I'll do the same and we'll both make sure the other comes back at the end of the day. Deal?"

"Deal," she agrees. "No more secrets, though. No more hidden prophecies or secret plans to touch forbidden gemstones or... We trust. We love. And we do better. Every small failure teaches me a new way forward, a way to be better than I was."

"Do better, huh," Varric repeats. "Alright. Deal and deal." He pauses a moment, then clears his throat. "It's not... prophetic visions or gems, but in spirit of the deal we just made... I, uh, I officially have you as my heir. Bartrand won't be happy about it, especially as I added in a bit that any of your, uh, issue have claim after you regardless of their race or status instead of him as well but..." He shrugs a little. "Counts if they come from Lawful or Moonbeam too, as long as you officially claim them as your child, niece or nephew. That took a very fancy bit of legalese to pull off without opening a hole to allow any of Sworder's highly theoretical get to challenge."

Marian smiles through proud tears. "Someday I'll have a child worthy of this clan. I won't let your hard work go to waste just because my blood is weak and human."

Varric's eyes widen. "Woah, woah, woah-- weak and human? Hawke, I may tease you about not having dwarf blood but I never actually cared!" _Wynne and Aveline are both human and everyone other than me and Merrill are at least half human, where the fuck did this come from?_

She shakes her head. "I don't really mean that. Only, if my mother had been elven, I'd outlive you, like a natural daughter would."

Varric studies her closely, needing to be sure it's just that she wishes she'd be around longer because she doesn't want to make him bury her. Hawke's never show any indication of that kind of bigoted bullshit before, ever, and the implication of it caught him entirely from behind. She means it... mostly. That's certainly why she said it. But she has that look deep in her eyes, the look that says 'I am not good enough'. That says 'It is late, I haven't slept, and I'm afraid'. _Ah. Not bigotry, but insecurity using that as an excuse. That's... not good, but it's more expected anyway._ Some the tension that had crept into his posture slowly leaks back out. "Maybe, maybe not. Besides, If she'd been elven too, that would mean you wouldn't be you. Wouldn't be as... adaptable or creative maybe. Hells, maybe you wouldn't have been so easily capable of opening your heart to so many people." He moves then, heading to get them some mugs for their tea. Should be steeped enough by now, right? Probably. "Longer life-span in exchange for not loving Flirty, Lawful or Shadow? Or maybe you wouldn't have been able to accept Moonbeam and ended up with one of the other three instead. Either way... that's a lot to give up for a few extra decades."

"Yeah," she admits. "I do like who I am. Mostly. I just wish I didn't have to disappoint people. I guess I should work on that, too," she admits. "I shouldn't lose myself trying to please anyone else, even if I love them."

"I think that sounds like a good plan," he says warmly, setting a mug in front of her. "You are getting better at... not so much standing up to people, that's never really been your issue, but in... not automatically pushing your needs to the magma bottom of your priorities when they clash with the needs of someone you love. Or even like."

She nods. "I don't ever want to.. be responsible for something like Rosemary again," she says, quietly. She takes her mug, taking an obedient sip.

"I'd rather prefer that, yes," he says dryly. "If someone loves you, they wouldn't want you to suffer like that for such a shallow reason. And if they do, then they clearly don't really love you."

She nods. "I wanted to help," she says, her voice soft. "I guess sometimes I can't help. Sometimes it's better to let people... It wouldn't have been life-threatening had I left. She would have been alright. I couldn't see that then, but..."

He takes a sip of his tea as she speaks, making an approving mmmh noise. "Yeah. And sometimes you can't help the way they want. Maybe you could have left and helped by... contacting her family. Or Zevran. Or whatever helps with that sort of thing." _Sex is fucking strange._

"Zevran would have killed her." She sighs. "I should have left when she started hurting me. When she stopped letting me sleep."

"You should have," he agrees bluntly. "And if you had, Zevran could have found someone willing to sub in for some bonus pay or something. Or her family could have... done whatever it is they do in that sort of instance. Hells, Moonbeam or Wynne would have happily spelled her under for the week if you asked." Hawke nods, ducking her head, shame written across her face. _It was my fault_ is clear as day in her expression as she sips her tea again. "But you'll do better next time something like that happens," he continues. "And it wasn't your fault. She raped you. You didn't ask for it. You didn't want it. You made a mistake, a bad decision... sure. But nothing that warranted what was done to you." Varric hesitates a moment. "Moonbeam asked Bob to run an errand for her. That's why he wasn't there. Maybe if she hadn't, she wouldn't have been taken. Was that her fault?"

Hawke shakes her head. "You can't get bogged down in maybes like that. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to stop this anyway. I know that. But... I left the house. I was at Seli's. I could have just had a nap, not gone back."

"And Rosemary could have bought a dildo," he says, visibly grimacing at the word.. "Or... been less of a selfish cunt. She claimed to love you. Not going back would have been.. not just admitting she didn't but that she'd hurt you. Can't blame you for not wanting that."

Hawke nods, slowly. "Sorry. I hate to make you deal with this, I know you don't like thinking about me that way. And I do know that she.... she raped me." She swallows, her hands trembling a bit; she picks up the mug to steady them. "I just hate to think of her like that. Of myself like that; as a victim, someone who was so easily trapped. I'm supposed to be a hero."

He jerks a shrug. "It's... just weird to me. All of it, even the good parts of it. Anyway, it's fine." He fiddles with his own mug for a bit. "Perfect heroes are boring, no-one would read that story. Might wish you'd picked up a gambling thing or what have you but... mistakes are the price of living."

She make a face. "No way, not after Gamlen." She pauses then, making an odd expression before she asks, "All of it... in relation to me? Because I'm your daughter? Or sex in general?" _I've never seen him date or even express an interest in doing so before.._

Varric shrugs. "All of it, yeah. I've never... wanted to. Tried, a few times, but... just never felt.. right. To be honest, I hadn't really given sex any thought outside of a dirty joke or story for decades before taking up with you." He looks a little uncomfortable talking about this but not overly so. Less than he does talking about her having sex.

Marian nods, slowly. "You're... asexual. Like Rosemary was, outside of her heat."

"Sure? Except it doesn't seem to make heat races uneasy when they're not in heat. I... it's like... I guess it's like..." He scowls a little at his mug. "Best I can put it to words, is that the idea of... doing that is like sticking my finger in puke. No offense."

Marian smiles a little. _Varric is definitely not the most eloquent speaker when he's telling the truth._ "That sounds awful," she admits. "You should take up meditation -- it's the second best way I've found to get into that state where your brain shuts off and you can just be."

"I do a bit of that. Nothing formal, but I do shot meditation, and working with numbers makes my brain zone out everything else a bit. But... yeah, maybe I'll look into some more traditional styles," he decides.

Marian nods. "Rosemary was... uninterested, outside her heat. She was willing to try, to please me, but she didn't enjoy it, so neither did I. We fumbled for a bit, but didn't get anywhere. I suppose that's why she was so aggressive during her heat. She even said, she..."

_I have given you better._

"And that's the difference between you and her. When you wanted something she didn't, you both made an effort to work it out, but when it was clear it wouldn't work without hurting her, you stopped. She didn't," he says softly.

Marian nods. "The difference is I'm an idiot and need to learn to protect myself, while she did fine."

"You know how to protect yourself, You just didn't want to have to protect to yourself, not from someone you wanted to love you. To be worthy of you loving back. Betrayal is a damn scary thing and... not wanting to believe it's happening to you is pretty common," he tries to explain.

She nods again, slowly. "I should focus on the people who really do love me. I shouldn't... go off by myself like that."

"You're not a fool, Hawke. You made that mistake, yeah. But you've learned and you'll do better next time something like that happens again. Double-check your judgements if you want, but trust yourself too," he urges her.

She nods once more, sipping her tea again before stifling a yawn.

"It's still pretty early. You should try get a bit more sleep," he suggests.

"I will try. Thanks, Papa."

"Sleep well, my merikos daughter," he says gently, rising to gather their mugs. "You can crash here if you want" he offers absently.

"I planned on it." She yawns, getting to her feet and planting a kiss on Varric's cheek as she departs. "Thank you, papa."


	7. "I want to be with you. Forever."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill tries to build herself a family, with mixed results.

Hawke is practically floating as she lets herself back into Wynne's house. The twins are adorable, amazing, wonderful, and she wants one. The force of that wanting startles her, catches her off guard. _I can't have a kid now,_ she reminds herself. _I don't even have a house anymore. Though, I did like the last one I toured; Merrill was rather taken with the garden, and it was a sensible place._

She pulls the door shut behind her, hanging up her cloak and heading for the parlor.

Merrill is there, something she hears before she sees. She's pacing, muttering to herself in Sylvian under her breath and gesturing as if giving a speech. As Hawke approaches, she stops, shakes her head and gripes her temples, switching back to Elven. "Uuuuggh. Why is this so hard? Just ask her, it should be easy. Okay... deep breathes." She clearly isn't paying attention to what's around her, not even glancing at Hawke or at Silence, who is watching all this with confused interest.

"Ask me what?" asks Hawke, casually, as she strides into the parlor. She kneels to pat Silence, pressing a kiss to her doggy forehead and mumbling about "such a good girl."

"Merciful skies and sun!" Merrill yelps, spinning around wildly. One hand is pressed against her heart, the other up and starting the first gesture of a Hold Person spell. "Hawke."

"That's me," she agrees, ruffling Silence's ears. She looks up, a slight frown on her face. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes of course things are fine and wonderful and I love you totally not hiding something did you cut your hair or maybe style your face?" She pauses then, her brain repeating her last few words. 'Style her face?' What does that even... "Make-up?"

Marian stands, letting the dog alone. "Merrill... Do you need a hug?"

"....always?" she offers weakly.

Marian crosses to Merrill in two quick steps, enfolding her beloved in her arms. "It's alright," she says in Elven. "I'm here."

The elf eagerly burrows into the embrace. "...even if I... say something wrong?" Merrill asks in a tiny voice.

"Always," she swears. "As long as you'll have me."

Merrill giggles nervously. "Good. Because. Ummm. So. I was thinking... for a while now actually. But, umm, but this last... thing. Almost... Well. I don't want to wait and not.. get a chance." She takes a few rather rapid breathes. "Ianagetmarrd," she slams out the words in a jumbled mess. "You," she tacks on after a beat. "With. To."

Marian pulls back to study her lover's face. Surely she's misreading her. She had thought Merrill was upset, was hurting g, but then she'd said... That had sounded like... "Once more?" She asks quietly. "Slowly?"

Merrill is flushed and... clearly nervous. Clearly. But she's also got hope and excitement warring to bloom in her eyes. "I want... to be with you. Forever." A swallow. "And... prove it. No, not prove, ummm, declare it. To everyone. With... maybe... a ceremony?"

_A cere--_ Marian's eyes widen. "Merrill, are you... Are you asking me to marry you?"

Merrill nods slightly, clearly nervous. "I... I- okay, I- umm, not- well, I mean, yes I'm asking if- for- yes, marrying Marian. That. But not like last time. I mean- what I mean is that- not just me?"

Marian's eyes flood with tears, and for a moment, she can't speak. Finally, she gasps out, "yes! Yes, Merrill, yes, of course."

Merrill outright leaps into her arms, wrapping her legs around Marian's waist without giving even a bit of thought as to whether she can hold her up. "Loveyouloveyouloveloveyou," she babbles. Marian smothers her in kisses, first covering her cheek before going in for a deep, soulful kiss. Several minutes later, Merrill finally pulls away to rest her forehead against- against her betrothed's forehead. Breathing deeply, she smiles happily. "Love you," she murmurs again before sneaking one last kiss.

"I asked everyone else and they're okay with it. I was kind of hoping for... well, they all had reasons to wait or... but they're okay with it. I don't want to... limit anything. I just want everyone to know forever I'm your's and you're mine."

"You asked... You mean everyone knew about this but me? The whole Clan?"

Merrill hunches down a little. "Well... yes? Sort of? I was sneak about it. I didn't... say when or... I just.. asked if they ever thought about.. if they'd want to ever get married. Or if they'd mind if you did. I suppose they might have figured out what I was planning .. but no-one said anything about it?"

So... yes. Everyone knew. Merrill doesn't subtle unless it's entirely by chance.

Marian laughs. "Saves me telling them I guess." A wicked grin creeps across her face." Unless you want to prank them?"

"Like we I distracted Varric so Zevran could replace all of Varric's ledgers with garbage romances?" Merrill asks curiously.

"Yes, exactly," she smirks. "If we act like I said no and we broke up... I bet they'd be doubly happy when they find out we're joking."

Merrill is shaking her head as soon as Hawke finishes. "No, I- I don't want to pretend that, even for a joke," she says quickly. "We could... say we're getting married next week because we're both pregnant?"

Hawke's grin grows. "Both of us-- because we had a foursome with The Twins.'

"And we're having triplets? Each?" Merrill offers, grinning now as well. "...because we used some kind of fertility thing?"

Hawke laughs. "I don't know if they'd believe that. Maybe that we already eloped. Rope in Nox to pretend to have witnessed the paperwork."

"Oooooh, that could work. But we have to tell Aveline. I promised that if I ever got married and she wasn't... you know, ready to do it too, she could stand for me?" Merrill replies, a little sad that Aveline won't be swearing to them- or just to Hawke as well- at the upcoming ceremony. "I don't want her to think I broke my promise."

Merrill considers it a moment, then grins. "So we tell Varric and Zevran, then get _them_ to tell Wynne. If they believe it, then she can't notice anything wrong. I do that with Bob sometimes, but only sometimes."

The hero nods. "I think that might work... Might get out of hand though. Unless. We prank them, then come clean and once they're each in on it they can help us prank the next one?"

"...Varric is really good at spinning bullpiss," Merrill muses. "He might be able to fool Wynne, at least for a few moments."

Hawke nods again. " He kind of checks out when Zevran talks. So Zevran first, then Varric, then Wynne? Get the twins to help prank Zevvy?"

"What about Seli and Andy?" She brightens up as a thought occurs. "What about Aveline? I'm not sure how good she is at pranks but would they ever expect it? We could do them first as kind of practice."

"Aveline first. We tell her we're making good on your promise."

And... goofy smile. Merrill giggles, then leans in to kiss Hawke again, nice and slow. Breaking the kiss but not moving away-- not that she can much, giving she's still being held off the ground-- she whispers, "my wife... my wife."

"My... wife," says Hawke slowly, in common, as though savoring the flavor of it before she repeats the sentiment in Dwarven: "My wife."

"My wife. [My wife]," she agrees in Elven, in Sylvan. "[Your wife]. [Your wife]," she adds, in Dwarven and Draconic, before giggling happily. "Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

"It does," simpers Marian. "It truly, truly does."

Merrill kisses her again, then asks, "so... should we go tell Aveline or, ummm, kiss more? Upstairs. In my bed."

"Aveline can wait."

 

~*~

Not everyone is having such a joyous day. Carver hadn't been able to get a steady contract out of Nyra in months. Sure, he has coin enough to live-- even some to save-- coming in from the odd guard job or from some work he's managed to find working security for some shops in Lily. But he wants to get out of this city, at least for a little while. The only caravans he's found that were hiring in months was either heading for Runis-- a broken magical city, worse than Nyra really-- or were... shady.

He wants a job, wants to leave, but he won't compromise who he is. He's an Amell and that has to mean something. It has to.

So here he is, nursing an ale at the Gravel Stream, one of the few taverns in Nyra that doesn't water their ale, feed you rat meat or shove magic in your face. Sure, they probably use it to clean or whatever, but at least you can ignore it here. It's two bells before midnight, and he should probably be heading home but- his attention is caught by the man sliding in the stool next to him. Good chainmail and a high quality dirk on his belt. Fighter this one.

"Ale any good here?" the human asks in a friendly tone. Middle-aged. Clean cut, with a trimmed beard and decent quality but utilitarian clothes.

"Best in Nyra," says Carver, in a tone not at all agreeable. The implication is clear: the best in Nyra is still horse piss.

The man laughs a bit but orders an ale anyway. He glances at Carver, then asks, "guard or merc?" in a friendly tone.

"Merc," he says with a nod. "Guard's fine and all, but I'm a wanderer at heart." _Or I got used to being away from home._

"That right?" He turns to give Carver a longer look this time. "What kind of jobs have you done? Anything with the guard?" A common question, as the guard vets their helps well, and many merchants use that reference as a means to get a better background check than they're willing to put the time or money into getting.

"Sure," he says, taking a sip from his mug. "Bunch for Old Man Jetty, if you;'re looking for something more challenging," he adds, naming a tycoon with a propensity for sending mercs into dangerous situations to earn him wild profits.

That gets a snort. "A bunch? You're either good, greedy or a fool. Well, a lucky fool," he amends after a moment. He glances a Carver, clearly asking which it is.

"Little of the first, little of the second. Got lucky a few times. Got better. Got hungry. I take maybe two jobs from him a year, when I can manage." He shrugs. "Not a lot pays so well, not honest work anyway."

"Suppose that's fair," he allows. "Sorry, look at me asking your life's work and not even introducing myself. Jeven," he finishes, offering his hand for a proper handshake.

Carver taks his hand, using his professional handshake: a firm grip, almost too firm, but not quite. "Carver Amell."

"Amell. Good solid name," he says casually. "I'm looking for some hired help, for blades mostly. Some warehouse guarding, but if you have some patience to go with your skill, there's better pay for instructors. I've been hired to help build up a... local watch, you could say, in Coalside. Not trying to make guards of them or anything, just get them skilled enough with a club or dagger to stop your average thug, that sort of thing."

He nods. "Well needed. Coalside guards aren't good enough for the whole district." He distinctly remembers the group of toughs that had first taught him to fight; they had pretty much thumbed their noses in the face of the guards, mugging and peddling drugs where they would. "We could use some law and order." And it is 'we'. He... hadn't moved out of Leandra's flat. Hadn't seen a reason to. he's only there maybe a quarter of the time at most.

"Do you think you'd be interested in signing on then? I've only a dozen watchers and three instructors. And one of them is only passable really. Good enough to teach the basic stances and a swing or two, but not enough seasoning to really be able to teach yet," Jeven says with a sigh. "I'd like to double the former and triple the later, at least, within the month. It'll be long-term too, mind you."

Carver nods. "Not thrilled about sticking around that long. But, if the pay's good enough..."

"The guarding is just seven copper a day, but it comes with a meal during and after your shift. Five days a week, ten hours a shift, with an hour of that off in the middle for a meal and break. If you and your references pass muster for the drilling, I'm paying two silver a day. Nine hour shift, break as well. Three silver if you if you're willing to sleep in the barracks for the recruits to act as nanny," he offers. It's not the best rates he's ever heard, but most of those were either life-threatening or involving long travel. Two or three silver for mostly non-combat work in Nyra itself? That's pretty solid.

"You'll be earning it. A lot of the people you're training are either completely green or ex-toughs trying to go straight," Jeven warns him. "The first are going to drive you mad and the second are going to try and test you. Already had one instructor back out because he couldn't stand trying to train laborers and the sons of laborers, and had to break the jaw of and fire another because she near to killed a tough for mouthing off to her one too many time. You need to smack them down? That's fine, toughens 'em and teaches them respect. No call for cutting them open from hip to hip."

Carver scowls, faintly. _I'll never make that mistake again. Once was bad enough._ "Sounds good. You don't like me as an instructor, I'm out," he warns. "Guarding's not my thing."

Jeven shrugs a little. "Fair enough. Was never fond of standing around or walking back in forth all day myself." He smirks a little. "Why I pushed to rise up to... supervisor stuff," he adds. "Let me buy you an ale- such as they are- to thank you for your time?"

Carver gives a wry grin. "Never would turn down a free drink."

Jevan points a finger at him. " _That_ is a lesson more people should learn. Work hard and provide for your own self, yes, but don't be so haughty as to turn down a friendly gesture. That's not the way to make friends or get ahead." From his tone, he's clearly thinking of someone in particular.

"Ain't that the truth," Carver grumbles. _Marian thinks she's too good for where she comes from these days._

After signaling for two more ales, Jeven glances over at Carver. "So I'll be seeing you... say tomorrow around noon? Red brick building with a yellow crescent moon above the door, on Fortieth east."

"I'm your man," he agrees.

And he still is three weeks later. He's barely at home of late, even on his days off from the primary job, he's been getting overtime helping to bring the other three, then four, instructors up to par. They're not bad at fighting mind, save the one that's been stuck doing the basic exercise work with the recruits, but it's like they've never given a moment's thought to how to _explain_ what they do. It's strangely satisfying, actually, more so than he expected. Just maybe, after he's older and has a family, he can do this full time. Can't very well be going off for months on end when you have a family after all. No _real_ father would do that.

Regardless, he has to head back to the barracks to get ready for today's class. The group he's been training (and babysitting overnight, an extra silver being worth having to share a bunk house with a score of other people after all) is a bit rough, but they're shaping up. Some of them worry him a little. No big red flags, just little things. The way they talk, the way they eye people when they're walking around Coalside. They're just a little more predatory than he feels people being trained to defend the area should have. Still, better they be a part of this than a real gang. At least they're off the streets and learning something that will help people.

He's a few blocks from his house, still in the much improved, albeit still poor, area of Coalside when he hears a hail of his name. Glancing to the right, he sees a far too familiar half-elf with white hair escorting a bubbly elf who's waving at him frantically. That's... Zevran and Merry or something, his sister's... friends, aren't they? _Oh, good. They've spotted me. Just what I was hoping for._ He frowns, just a touch, hoping they won't engage.

Unfortunately, she is heading _right_ for him. And the man is being dragged along with her, though he's not fighting it or anything. "Carver! Oh wonderful! Carver, wait up!"

_Wonderful?!_ "What fresh hell is this?" He mutters. "Mary, was it?" He asks, louder, as she gets close.

"What? Oh, so Hawke _did_ get a hold of you!" the elf proclaims, looking both disappointed and intensely pleased. Or maybe proud. Both?

Carver blinks. "I haven't heard from Marian in... " _it can't have been years. But this time last year I hadn't heard from her in months, maybe a year..._ He falters, then concludes, "ages."

"Oh. Then how did you know?" the elf asks curiously.

Next to her, the half-drow smiles slightly. "I think perhaps we misheard his greeting, Merrill." he comments with a wink.

Carver frowns slightly. "My apologies, Merrill. Listen, I only have a few minutes," he hedges.

"Ah, that's as shame," the man says, still smiling. "How about we walk with you, to maximize our time together?" he suggests.

"Oh, that's brilliant," Merrill says brightly, moving to take Carver's hand. "It'll be nice to see you more. At least, I hope we will, given that we'll be closer soon. With the wedding," she explains.

_It will be-- With the--_ he coughs, turning slightly away to hide his widened eyes. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I get to be a Hawke like you," Merrill beams at him as they walk. And she swings their arms as they go, almost like a swing.

"I'm an Amell," he replies, automatically. "The-- you're _marrying_. My sister. Shouldn't I get some say in this, since she doesn't have a father?"

"What did you want to talk about?" Merrill asks curiously, then, "but she does have a father."

Carver's expression darkens. "I suppose she does," he growls out. "Everyone always liked Marian best. It's me and Bethany that suffered."

Merrill blinks a few times. "Well, have you tried smiling more? I find that helps a lot."

"Or perhaps you can prevent an undead uprising. That often makes one popular, I've noticed," Zevran says idly.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he snaps. _If it was me they were sticking in the ground, nobody would have bothered bringing me back. I'm solid, dependable, and I risk my life just as often as she does, but I get no thanks for it._

"Well, I'd prefer it not come up again, but if it does, I'd rather like _anyone_ to stop it," is the smooth reply "Wouldn't you?"

Merrill shudders a little. "Undead are not very nice. Or fun. Oh! But before I forget- again- I wanted to ask. Well, Hawke wanted to ask, but she's hasn't been able to find you so I'll ask her for you. Err, ask you for her. About standing?"

"Standing for her at the wedding. Varric will be giving her away, but she wants you to stand by her before the priestess," Zevran clarifies in a show of minor mercy.

_**Varric** will be giving her away._ His scowl deepens. _She couldn't even ask me herself._ "Does she? It's kind of her to recall she even has a brother. Last I heard she wanted nothing to do with me."

"You were the one that cast your shared name aside," Zevran points out. "She might not reach out to you any more or less often than you reach out to her, but at least she's not holding a sword when she does it," he counters with a silky voice.

"Zevran," Merrill says, giving the male a chiding look. "This is supposed to be a happy talk, about a happy thing," she says softly.

"My sister doesn't need a sword to kill, as you well know," Carver snarls, over top of Merrill trying to make peace.

"I know you two don't get along. And that Hawke and Carver have a... rough history, with a lot of pain on both sides," she continues, giving Carver a sympathetic look. "But please... can we not fight?"

Carver holds up his hands, taking a step back. "Fine. Your message was delivered. I think it's clear we have nothing else to talk about."

"Zevran, can you walk ahead a bit?" Merrill asks softly, giving him a stern look when he starts to object.

"Very well, my fleur aimable," the half-drow says with a bow as he backs away to leave.

"Really, this isn't necessary," Carver argues, as Zevran goes.

"Your're my Marian's brother," Merrill says simply. a gentle smile on her face. "In a month and some, you'll be my brother-electi. My family. Of course this is necessary."

"We're not family anymore. Marian saw to that." He could have forgiven her if she'd just kept Hawke, but adding Tethras? No.

"Of course you're family," Merrill says firmly. "You and Hawke and Bethany and Leandra-- you're all still family. Names and death don't stop that. Only... only.. .if you choose... please don't give up on family." She wipes at her eyes, wiping the moisture gathering there. "I-- I would have given so much to have family. You're so lucky to have that. I know it might not have been the one you wanted. I'm sorry about that, but... please? At least come to the wedding and... talk. She misses you, still."

"Our father only loved Marian," says Carver, bitterly. "Mother could only talk about her after she left, about how she'd broken Mother's heart. And then she left me alone. Did she really send you to find me? Does she even think about me? Or are you just being sentimental?"

"I'm sorry about your parents. But that's not Hawke's fault. Or yours. It's their fault. Hawke thought of you the day I asked her to marry me. She said as soon as plans for the ceremony were discussed that she wanted you to stand for her. And she's been looking for you for weeks now." She shrugs a little. "She'd been by your house a few times because she wanted to tell you in persona, not a note. But last week, she finally asked the Clan to pass it on if we saw you first. Aveline mentioned you haven't been by in a while, we were started to get worried." She winces. "Well, the three of us have been getting worried. Papa and Zevran are a little... protective, and they hold grudges. So they've been pretending to be worried."

"My new job has lodgings," he says absently. _Marian was... worried? She wants me in the wedding?_ "Look, if you'll leave me her contact information, I can make some time. Just to make sure she knows I'm alive and all."

"Of course," she says eagerly. "We're getting a house together, in Lily, but for now, it'd be best to leave messages with Wynne, my mentor. The two of us are home the most," she explains as she gets out some parchment to write the address down. "So there's more of a chance you'll catch someone."

Carver nods, frowning in thought. _One more thing my sister has that I don't._ He'd had girlfriends over the years, but never a relationship that felt like a keeper. With him on the road so much, it was hard to really date.

Jotting down Wynne's address quickly, Merrill tucks away her things and hands the note to Carver with a flourish. "Are... are you okay? You seem sad?" Merrill asks softly, eyes gentle.

"Sad?" He echoes. "Why would I be? My life is going great." He lies, his tone still bitter. Merrill just looks at him with sad wide eyes. And then her arms come up to mutely offer a hug. He takes half a step back, with a frown. "I have to get to work," he says, his voice strained.

Merrill sighs, lowering her arms. "Alright, brother-electi," she says softly. "I'll have a talk with Zevran and Papa about behaving better," she promises. "Please visit?"

Despite his gut instinct, Carver finds himself nodding. "Yeah, I'll drop by sometime."

Merrill beams at him, the expression like the sun coming out. "Wonderful! Do you have any favorite foods? I'm not a great cook but Wynne is good and Aveline is actually really good- Varric and your sister aren't allowed to help unless we're all dying and can't move. Zevran and Isabela can cook but then the food always comes out in penis and boob shapes so really it's just the three of us most of the time. So just send word and we'll make you something special, okay?"

_Penis and-- What kind of debauchery am I walking into?_ Carver doesn't voice this thought, but it's written across his face. "Right..."

"It's okay, they only joke a bit if Wynne and Papa are around," she says comfortingly. "Varric gets flustered at the teasing, which they love to see, but anything more actually upsets him so Hawke won't allow it. Not that they would mind you, they like him too. And Wynne." Merrill shivers a little. "Wynne can be _mean_ about it. She goes right for ice water if hands wander."

_Hands..._ Now he looks downright disgusted. "So the rumors are true? My sister is..." _basically a whore, but not smart enough to get paid?_

Merrill tilts her head. "Possibly? There's lots of rumors."

"The... rumors of her... " He looks vastly uncomfortable. "Sexual exploits."

"Ooooh," Merrill says with a nod. "Those. Not all of them of course, she'd never have time to sleep if they were all true. Or be able to walk. She's never had sex with a troll or a lich for instance. But she is sleeping with four people regularly and shares her bed with others from time to time. She's more picky than people say though," she adds with a scowl. "And she never does it for favor or to get out of trouble. She likes sex and she cares for people. So why shouldn't she?"

"You don't care?" He asks, taken aback. "Then how is what you're doing marriage?! The whole point is that selfless devotion to someone, making them the center of your world, the purpose of your existence, the one life you protect even at the cost of your own. To then fuck around like they're nothing to you..."

"Well, for one, I hardly have room to talk given that I love Zevran as well," Merrill replies easily. "I'd ask him to marry us both as well, but given his past, he's too wary of that kind of thing. Even for love, it's hard for him to accept even legal chains." She scowls a little at the thought of her Shining Moon going through anything like that again. Like he had to a save her from-- A sharp shake of her head gets her back on topic. "I know Hawke would give her life for mine. Just as I would for her. But my world has two centers. Besides, sex and love aren't the same thing at all, and neither require marriage. Otherwise brothels would have to have priests in every room or something."

"You can't have two centers. If it's real love, you won't want anyone else."

Merrill gives her a curious look. "Why not?" She doesn't sound accusing or insulting, but simply honestly curious as to what his reasoning is.

"Because when you love someone, you commit to them above all else! You choose them, out of everyone. It's not meaningful if you just keep adding people."

"But you don't run out of love. The more people that love you, the more people you love, the more love you have to give," Merrill explains earnestly. "Trying to pick between Zevran and Hawke would be like choosing between joy or faith. Food or drink. Sometimes I want one more than the other, but it's always changing and I never go long without needing both."

"If it's real love, you run out," he scowls. "Friendship maybe you can have a lot of, but not love."

"When I feel joy, I want to share it with them. With I feel pain, I want their comfort. When _they_ feel pain, my heart aches with them. When I wake in the morning, I wonder how long until I see them. Or if they're with me, I wonder how long we can stay, just like this. My first thought after mastering a new challenge or completing a difficult task is to share it with them. If they're in danger, I can think of nothing but to be with them, to keep them safe. When I hurt them, I hate myself. When they forgive me, it's like the heavens come back." The shaman smiles at Carver, a contented and serene smile. "I'd die for them, with no more regrets than the pain my passing will give them. I want to spend my life with them, for as long as I can. And when I have to bury them, I know it'll only be the family we've made together that keeps me from following them. I delight at their touch. I listen for their voices. I hold their words closer than anyone else's and their smiles are the greatest reward I know. I don't know if feeling that way to more than one person makes it less, but what I have is enough for me."

Carver blanches; something about that hit home, but even he would be hard-pressed to day what exactly. He turns away, his face closing over. "Fine. I hope you and your freakish little family are happy."

" _Our_ ," Merrill says simply but firmly. "Even if you reject us, there will always be a place for you, brother."

"Get Marion to say it," he snaps. "Then I might stand a chance of believing it."

"I shall," she replies with a firm nod. "Have a good day at work and do please drop a letter to arrange a visit." Nodding a farewell, she heads off to rejoin Zevran.

~*~

Later that very night, Merrill makes a point of cornering Hawke alone in Wynne's backyard. Although tempted to let her lover's assumption stand, she pulls away before losing her head entirely. "I bumped into your brother today," she manages to blurt out.

Hawke still, glancing over Merrill first for signs of people physical hurt, then mental. "Did you?" She asks, sounding distant.

"We had a nice talk," she says, tone just a touch reproving. "I passed on the news about the wedding. He... seemed a little confused at first, but then he seemed mostly sad. And... surprised."

Hawke sighs. "Do you think he'll make trouble?" She asks, quietly.

"...is that really your first thought?" Merrill asks with sad eyes. "When I say your brother looks sad, you're worried he'll be trouble?"

Hawke winces, a guilty look on her face. "Yes. He's known to get stabby when he's hurt."

Merrill sighs a little. "I suppose that does sort of stick in your head," she allows. "I don't know. I don't think so? But I'm not a very good judge of people," she adds, a shadow in her eyes. "Ummm. I may have told him to send a letter to arrange a visit. Maybe... try to reconnect before the weddings? I did tell him, about that I mean. Us. Being married."

"I assumed you did when you said he looked sad. Was he sad before you told him?" Now she sounds vaguely concerned, that little frown appearing on her face.

"...lonely. He looked... lonely and... bitter maybe? I don't think he... I don't think he has anyone. Aveline used to train with him but he's been gone a lot lately she mentioned." Merrill sighs again before resting her cheek against Hawke's chest. "I wish..."

Hawke wraps her arms around Merrill. "I'm sure he has people. Coworkers, at the least. Maybe he was just having a bad day." _Don't drag me back in_ , she pleads silently. _I have to protect my heart at least that much._

"Can... can I visit him?" Merrill asks quietly. "I... he'll be my brother, I just... no-one deserves to be alone. It hurts so much to be alone."

"Not without me," she says instantly. "Or Zevran," she allows, a moment later. "I don't want him taking advantage of that big heart of yours"

"...maybe not Zevran or Varric," Merrill says, frowning. "I'll be having a _talk_ with both of them about their manners, but... still. You or anyone else Clan?" she counters, glancing upwards to reveal Bob's location. The chuspiki isn't looking at them, but one large ear is tilted in their direction as he stares out over the street.

Still, Hawke hesitates. "Merrill... You know Carver hates me, right?"

Merrill shakes her head. "He didn't have hate in his eyes when he spoke of you. His eyes... they were filled with pain and loneliness and abandonment and envy and... a lot of things. But not hate, not really. I think... I think he's forgotten how to love people, after..." She scowls a little, though her glare tints with shame rapidly. "I really hate your mother," she says crossly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't, she's Mileen's now and it's not healthy to dwell on that such of thing and she's your mother but I do! I hate her for what she did you and your brother!"

Hawke sighs. "I know, Merrill. It's... It's okay to hate her, I think. At least a little. But... with Carver, it's all the same thing. Pain and loneliness and hatred. He can't separate me from his fantasies about me."

"Then I'll explain it to him," she says patiently. "I won't go alone. I've invited him here first anyway, so I'll have Wynne and Rhys and Bob around that time. I just... he doesn't really know you, Just... rumors and misconceptions and fears."

She gives her a flat look. "We lived together until long after I'd met you. Even then, I kept in contact. If he doesn't know me, it's because he doesn't want to know me." She sighs. "I'd feel better if you had someone who can withstand a hit around. Aveline maybe? She likes him."

"Aveline is nice," Merrill agree, then leans in to kiss Hawke. "I'm sorry, my love. I don't mean to... push you or make you feel bad about it. I just... his eyes remind me of before you," she whispers.

She winces, pulling back from Merrill, heading for the door. "So, I sould see if they need help with dishes," she says, a touch too loudly to cover her guilt.

"My star, please don't... " Merrill sighs. "I promise to be careful," she finally finishes.

_Carver never escaped, did he? He's still trapped in that house with the ghost of Leandra. Oh, Carver..._ "Thank you," she says, tiredly.

"Of course, my love," Merrill says gently. "That's what Clan is for, to help with burdens one can't bare on their own."

~*~

Three days later, Carver leaves a message at Wynne's, saying he'll have the day off tomorrow. Hawke has Light business, which means Merrill has a good excuse to visit with Aveline alone. Making up a big chicken, rice and veggie casserole- left side very light on the chicken- and some homemade biscuits, she packs the whole thing in their good cast-iron cookpot and makes her way downtown.

Has Coalside really improved as much as Aveline says? It's hard to tell unless you'd been here before; this place is dreadfully poor and dirty, bordering as it does on Cat-town. There's layers of old graffiti here, hidden in the nooks and crannies; many of the most prominent structures seem to have been painted more recently than the tucked-away nooks, implying they were scrubbed haphazardly. There's nothing green here, just uneven streets and buildings in poor repair. Aveline has to show Merrill where the entrance to knock on is: it's tucked away at the back of a townhouse, the front door and side doors being two different addresses.

Carver answers the door. He's dressed up some; he's wearing a button-down flannel shirt and a pressed pair of trousers, giving him a rugged, casual look for his day off. His clothes are a lot newer and cleaner than most of the residents. In fact, given how much Hawke makes on her adventuring runs, there's no way he's this poor. So why does he live here in this squalor, in a home with no windows and only two rooms?

"Hello. Oh, you brought food -- I was going to suggest we go out." He peers past Merrill, clearly looking for Hawke, though when he sees Aveline he looks faintly relieved. "Captain."

"I did!" Merrill says happily. "But we can go out and you can have this later if you prefer. It's just a casserole and some biscuits, it'll keep for your dinner or even breakfast tomorrow if you want."

"Carver," the other woman adds. "It's good to see you again. And it's just Aveline. This is a social call and I'm off duty after all."

Carver blinks. _That's a trap, right? It feels like a trap. Calling a guard captain by her first name is definitely a trap._ "Right. Yes, let's, I'll just... ah, come in." He takes the pot from Merrill, looking for a place to stash it in the dim, dusty front room. _Under the desk is probably fine. Whoops, left my plate out from breakfast, I'll just..._ He slides the pot under the desk, swooping up the dishes and dropping them into a barrel of sudsy water he keeps around for that purpose.

Aveline is smiling, but she's also trying very hard to fight the urge to start cleaning. Now. On the other hand, Merrill simply trails after Carver, looking about curiously. "What did you have in mind for lunch? Oh, I should have said when I first got here- Hawke had to work today, some kind of really dreadful meeting about zones? But I thought we could have a nice visit, I hope you don't mind?"

"Ah." He tidies the pile of mail on the desk absently, shuffling his feet. "I suppose. As long as things stay pleasant." _Idiot. Now she's going to laugh at you._

"That would be nice," Merrill agrees. "Fair warning, I can be a bit strange and I often hug people seemingly at random but if shush me or give me a poke to the head if I start to bother you," she says brightly.

"I've also found that making a loud noise or showing her something shiny works well," Aveline adds, totally not neatening up Caver's boots and shoes by the door with her foot.

There's a low growl from the back room; a moment later, a massive mabari, twin to Beka, steps through the doorway beside Carver. "Shush," he commands, and the dog goes quiet, still staring at Avaline menacingly.

"Sorry. This place is a little small, he wants a walk. Ah, I can do it later. I hope you're not afraid of dogs?" Carver ruffles the dog's fur, briefly, as if to signal that it's really alright.

"Not at all," Aveline says softly, moving slowly to offer her hand. "His sister lives with me," she adds, letting the mabari get her scent, as well as Beka's she's sure is all over her. "He's got a few inches on my Beka."

"Does she." Carver's tone is a bit flat, a bit stiff. He'd known where Hunter came from, but most days he managed to forget. _A dog is no replacement for a sister._

Hunter, catching Carver's tone, flattens his ears, giving Aveline a wary look.

"She does," Aveline says, lowering her hand. "She's part of the guard, more or less. Better arrest record than half the old guard in Coals in a fifth as many years. Damn good breed, aren't they."

His face softens a little as he looks at Hunter. "Humanity's best friend," he confirms.

Merrill peeks out from around Aveline, a look of intense eagerness on her face. "Hello Hunter," she says softly, her voice low and soothing. "Been taking good care of your human?" she asks as she kneels a few feet from the mabari. Her posture, her voice, even her breathing, all of it just radiates peaceful intent and serenity. She might not be a druid or even a ranger, but Merrill has a way with animals that's almost supernatural- especially doggos.

Hunter's tail gives a short, single wag, but he looks up to Carver before doing anything else. He knows who to trust here, even above his own instincts. Carver gives him another pat, and Hunter takes a step toward Merrill, tongue lolling out as he sniffs her.

Merrill holds still at first to let him get a bit of sniffing in, then begins to pet him. "Good boy," she says softly. "Oh, you're a strong one, aren't you, almost like a bear's musculature. Nice thick coat too, someone's doing well. Your Carver takes good care of you, doesn't he? No grits or scraps for you, this doggo's been getting meat regular, yes you have."

Aveline gives a smirk to Carver. "We should probably talk amongst ourselves for a bit. Once she's gone this far, she's going to be busy for a while. She sees my Beka once a week or so and each time she acts like it's been a season at least."

Hunter presses himself up against Merrill, docked tail stub wagging furiously, panting with glee as he basks in the attention. Carver shoots the dog a dirty look -- _traitor dog, liking my sister's..... friend._ \-- but turns back to Aveline. "I could bring him if you really don't mind."

"Not at all- and she clearly doesn't," Aveline replies with a fond smile at the elf. "Haven't seen you around the guard room of late- find a new spot or just been busy?"

"Got a new job. Pay's decent." He shrugs, clearly feeling awkward as he stares at Merill petting his dog.

"Good for you," Aveline says, no hint of mockery or the like in her voice. "Anything interesting? And again, that's Aveline asking a friend, not Captain Vallen questioning an adventurer," she adds a little awkwardly. "You can just politely tell me to mind my own business if you want."

He chuckles. "It's fine. I'm working as a trainer now. Teaching scrubs to fight, trying to keep them from killing themselves in practice."

"Are you?" she asks, looking a bit impressed and more interested. "I've never had the knack of that- I can give critiques after a spar or offer advice to someone but teaching step-by-step? I get too... well, I normally say frustrated but honestly? I get flustered. Realize I forgot to mention something and then stress over it and that makes me forget something and... yeah."

Carver nods. "Not a problem for me. I get frustrated, though. These kids are idiots."

"Recruits are _always_ idiots. I was able to teach _Beka_ , who-- mabari or not-- is still an animal, regs and policies faster than most recruits," Aveline says with a groan. "Bastion himself would at least think about smacking their heads together at some point. And your lot are probably, as the ones I get have already gotten some basics drilled in before being assigned to Coalside. Plus I can dump them on a drill sarge most of the time."

Carver's eye twitches faintly. "Is that why Coalside patrols are so bad? They're fobbing green recruits off on the worst part of the city?"

"'Coalside is the largest and most varied district, it makes a perfect proving ground for new recruits, to allow them to gain valuable experience.' That's about the nicest explanation I've gotten for it," she says sourly. "Still, there's some good to it- at least I get them before someone else can fill their heads with the 'way things work.' The patrols are green, but at least they're honest." She sighs. "Most of them anyway. Captain or not, I still can't just fire long standing officers without a solid case."

Merrill has Hunter on his side, masking her impromptu check-up as lavish attention and coos. Hunter, it seems, is actually really well cared for... except for being restless from being cooped up all day. Still, it seems he does get plenty of exercise normally.

"Not much comfort to those of us stuck here," Carver scowls.

_Stuck here? You have to be making enough to move somewhere else by now... And if it's that bad, you could help instead of just bitch about it. You're a good man, most of the time, but you just can't be happy, can you?_ "Change is slow, but it's steady," she says neutrally. "At least the guard isn't making it worse anymore. Crime is down, across the district, even if it's not as low as I'd've hoped it would be by now. Four years ago, I wouldn't have been willing to walk down here with Merrill without my amour on." She's got her sword and shield, but is just wearing a plain shirt and trousers otherwise.

Giving Hunter one last rub, Merrill finally stands. "Can Hunter come too? When we go out to eat?" she asks brightly.

"It's likely to drop further. The men I'm training are organizing unofficial patrols, to boost the security of the district. We could really make a difference," he says, earnestly. "There's still hope for Coalside yet." That's the most earnest and enthusiastic she's probably ever seen him.

"Really?" Aveline asks, glancing at Merrill. "I'd like to hear more about it, if you don't mind? Maybe as we eat?"

Carver chuckles, awkwardly. "I don't think they'd appreciate the Guard knowing too much. No offense, but they're a bit worried you'll shut the whole thing down out of stupid pride." _Smooth._

Aveline opens her mouth to rather hotly deny it, then sighs. "I'd be glad for the help but... yeah, I could see more than a few guards being insulted. And worse, I could see some of the nobles on the budget committee either deciding this means they can save some coin on us if citizens are willing to do it for free or taking it as an attack and trying to stop you."

Merrill glances at them both, head tilting a little. "So... lunch?" she suggests brightly. "Well, walkies, then lunch!"

Carver nods. "Yes, let's bring Hunter." _I will **not** dignify 'walkies' with a response._

"Yay. Walkies Hunter!"

Sighing a little, Aveline murmurs to Carver, "if you do start getting trouble from on high, contact me and I'll try to help as best I can." Louder, she adds, "did you have a place in mind for lunch? I eat just about anything, but Merrill prefers fruit and vegetables or fish, though she'd not be averse to meat."

Carver grimaces. "I usually head for the pub on the corner. Is that acceptable?"

"I'm sure she'll find something," Aveline says with a nod. "Merrill," she calls then, patting her hip as if summoning Beka. She blushes then, realizing what she'd done but her friend doesn't bat an eye.

"Can we head to Blossom or is there a place we can run around nearer?" the elf asks brightly, beaming at Carver.

"I usually just walk around Coalside. Nobody will bother me with a Mabari at my heel." Carver pats his side, just as Aveline did, and Hunter springs back to his feet, bounding over to his master in a single bound. "Let me grab the leash." He ducks into the back room then -- a room with a small cot, a chest for clothing, and a large pillow for the dog. It is lit by candles from a small shelf above the dog bed, upon which is a portrait of a young girl, maybe 10 years of age, looking very similar to Carver. An altar?

"Fair enough," Aveline comments after a glance at the... well, altar in the backroom. "Ready then?" She asks, then comments, "if he's trained for it, you can skip the leash if you want."

"He scares the neighbors," Carver admits, clipping the leash to Hunter's collar.

"Around here? That's probably not a bad thing," the guardswoman replies. "Doubt you've had a break in since he got higher than your knee."

Merrill beams at Hunter, patting his head. "A good doggo is better than a ward," she agrees. "You can't pet a ward. Or play fetch."

Carver snorts. "There's nothing here worth stealing."

"That doesn't stop people from trying," Aveline notes grimly. "Anyway, shall we?" she asks, drifting towards the door.

Carver nods, Hunter at his heels. It's not hard to see why Hunter scares the neighbors as they walk; it seems the doggo has a habit of growling at catfolk, and they go out of their way to avoid him. Interesting. Maybe there's something to this whole cat vs dog war?

"Beka does the same thing with Bob," Merrill notes after the third time she sees the interaction.

"Yes. Yes she does," Aveline growls.

"Bob?" Carver asks, blinking.

Merrill nods. "My spirit animal," she explains, leaning forward to show a pair of eyes peeking out from under her hair, Bob evidently napping in the hood of her cloak. "He's a chuspiki."

"He's a light-fingered pervert," Aveline growls, arm coming up partially to protect her chest.

Merrill flushes a little. "He's not normally like that, I promise! He was just trying to make sure you chased him and.. well, it worked?"

"Ah," says Carver, his tone flat. "I see. Hunter's just overprotective -- he knows better than to chase."

"Merrill's a shaman, a divine caster who works through spirits instead of the deities directly," Aveline remarks carefully, for no reason, just being informative.

_Still a mage,_ Carver thinks bitterly. "Spirits? That sounds dangerous."

Merrill shakes her head rapidly. "Not at all. Spirits are mostly neutral. The only time they're hostile or even unfriendly is when they're corrupted by mortals- and that's very hard to do and even more obvious when you have. For instance, the spirit of the city- I call it Nyrite!- could be corrupted but only if the entire city turned evil and cruel. For a generation or two at least," she explains eagerly.

"From what I understand, the spirits are governed by one or more of the Seventeen. Nuagrix and Alydra for.. Nyrite I imagine. That's where her spells come from, they're just filtered through the spirits," Aveline explains. "Kind of a blend of cleric and druid practices."

_At least there's that._ Carver sighs, forcing himself to let go of his resentment, at least a little. "I see. Sorry, I have a history with... malevolent forces."

"I know. I... I have a similar history with aberrations," Merrill says softly, swallowing hard. "But yeah, yes, I can safely say that there's absolutely no connection to sceleratian powers with my abilities," she says firmly. "If nothing else, Hawke would never stand for it, not for any reason."

"I wouldn't exactly stand idle either," the paladin says dryly.

"Marian," he scoffs, a dark look crossing his face. "I'd rather not speak of her."

Merrill gives him a sad look, but nods. "Well, none of us are the sort for that," she continues. "Actually... I don't think any of us could summon a scelerati. I mean, any easier than anyone could."

"Perhaps a new topic?" Aveline says firmly. _Brilliant. Now you've gone and as good as volunteered to come up with a new topic. Small talk. Ugh._ "Ah... so what're your thoughts on the talks with Teurnal about copper tariffs increasing?" _Politics? That's your new topic? Gods damn it Aveline!_

"Copper tariffs." Carver's tone is flat, skeptical, but he rises to the occasion anyway. "I suppose it's likely to reduce trade, and that means less guard jobs. Isn't it supposed to be something extravagant?"

Aveline nods. "Teurnal is claiming that they need the increased tariffs to protect their own miners but the fact the it would only affect Nyran copper makes that rather suspect. And the fact that they're bringing it up shortly after we started working on stricter purity checks on any grains we import- a sizeable amount of which we get from them- makes it even more so."

"Right," he says, pleased to have remembered. "Any time the politics break down, it's the little guy who suffers. It's hard enough to get out of Coalside keeping your nose clean; you have to take real dangerous jobs just to make it worth your time. Guarding trade caravans is a time honored tradition. The less trade, the more poverty. But it's not like the noble folk care. To them it's all pissi-- games," he breaks off as he recalls that he's in the presence of ladies and not his usual pub crowd.

Aveline nods. "There are good nobles, just like there's good sorts of any group really, but yeah, it's far too common for 'diplomatic talks' to turn into dick measuring contests that at best stall things and at worst cause wars. The last I heard, Light Lord Marass had gotten involved so there's some hope yet. He might be a miser, but he's at least the type that's smart enough to remember that a thriving commoner class means more prosperity for the rich in the long term."

At 'dick measuring', Carver shoots a glance at Merrill, to see how she reacts to the crass language. _It's been a while since I hung out with women,_ he realizes. _Maybe they've changed._ "I wouldn't throw around the c-word in these parts," Carver jokes, deadpan. "I think they prefer 'underclass' these days."

Merrill doesn't seem to have really noticed, being more interested in trying to play with Hunter. She's trying to 'stealthy' scratch his head without him catching her- of course, he knows very well what she's doing, but it's amusing the nice lady so he's willing to allow it. Plus, you know, scritches.

Catching his look. Aveline smirks. "Woman, yes, but a guard first and foremost," she comments. "I can probably out curse more than three-quarters of the men at the tavern we'll be eating at." She laughs softly, then adds, "she doesn't curse much but nothing much offends her really. Merrill's a sweetheart, through and through."

"I'm sure," he replies, his tone dark. "She's attracted to my sister after all."

"Let's... keep not talking about her please," Aveline says, tone blank. "Neither of you does well with that topic."

Carver growls a little in frustration. "What do you expect from me? You at least I know overall. Merrill I only know through her. It's a constant reminder."

"I know. I'm not mad with you, Carver. I just... Pretend Merrill is just a friend of mine, who in turn is just a friend of your's from work," Aveline proposes. _I'm trying to make this work, but damn he can be a pain when he gets like this._

"Why are you both here?" he asks, after taking a few paces to try and calm down. "You I can get along with, but the rest of you I have nothing in common with."

Aveline glances at Merrill, wondering how much to share. "Merrill.. well, you've surely noticed she'd a bit.. unusual," she says softly. "She wasn't treated well by the people in her old village so she's very... dedicated to her new family. And... she considers you part of that. So..." She shrugs. "I'm here because I do consider you a friend, something I don't have many of, and it's been awhile since I saw you."

_What a joke,_ Carver thinks. _A fake family to soothe a real hurt. She seems more dedicated to my dog than me._ He sighs. "How long do you think she'll keep on this?"

"Until you and Hawke embrace in familial love or at least until she thinks you're happy," Aveline says in a low voice, wincing. "She means well, but..."

Giggling Merrill, bounces away from the mabari to come over to the pair. "Is there a place we can play fetch? He keeps growling at people, I think he's got a lot of energy pent up."

"He doesn't like the neighbors," Carver says, automatically. "Heel, Hunter." The dog obediently leaves off the catfolk he was growling toward and falls in line, keeping up easily with his owner.

"Oh? Did something happen?" Merrill asks with concern.

Carver snorts. "Marian again. Some crazy bitch decided to make a fuss because my sister wronged her or some such. Hunter's been jumpy about them ever since."

"...Rosemary?" Aveline asks carefully as Merrill stiffens.

Carver tenses, and Hunter growls in response. "That's the one."

"She... assaulted Hawke. Managed to hurt her rather badly," Aveline says, picking her words with care. Merrill, not wanting to hear this, moves ahead a bit, body tense. "Her family settled with with Hawke out of court. They were _supposed_ to be watching her."

Carver nods, slowly. "She talked like my sister did her a wrong. Like she was consumed with vengeance. I told her we're not on good terms, but she didn't listen."

Aveline nods slowly. "Some people can't admit they deserve the sentencing they're given," she says with a sigh. "It's not common, thankfully, but we get a handful of that sort every year. People blaming the guard for arresting them instead of themselves for committing the crime in the first place." She offers a wan, lackluster smile. "I imagine you've run into similar- clients that blame you for failing a job when they didn't provide enough information or hire enough people for what they wanted. It's all the same mindset really."

_Marian blaming me for her own decision to leave,_ he doesn't add. "Sure." Who's he to argue about some crazy cat bitch?

"Were you... hurt?" Aveline asks gently. "Or was Hunter?"

"No." Carver scowls. "It was a near thing. But Hunter was on top of it. Pulled her off me before I could get hurt too bad."

"Damn it... alright, I'll follow up... sorry. Do you want me to follow up on this? With her family or whoever else?"

He shakes his head. "I heard she left town anyway."

_Did she now? Varric hadn't passed that along, I'll have to ask about that..._ "Alright, if you're sure," she says after a moment. "Do... do you want me to try and see if I can get Merrill to go?" she asks quickly, voice low, after a glance to make sure the shaman is still too far ahead to overhear.

He breathes in slowly, then out again, just as slow. "...is she likely to hug me? Because I'm not up for hugging."

"She'll want to, yes, but she's aware she's supposed to ask so if she moves at you, step back and go ahead and snap at her a bit. She has... trouble remembering about personal space at times," Aveline admits. "But the Rosemary thing will have shook her up so she'd probably be willing to head home as long as I stay."

Carver chuckles. "You really do talk about her like a dog."

Aveline winces. "Ah... I... she reminds of Beka when she was a puppy sometimes, yes," she admits. "Not that she's stupid or anything, she just... she chooses to view life differently. More simply, I suppose. But she's not dumb."

Carver nods. "Should I try? I don't see much benefit to befriending her -- my sister's sure to undo it -- but..."

Aveline shrugs. "It's up to you really. She's a sweet girl: warm and loving, fiercely loyal and kind. She's also a bit over eager in lot of ways. Intrusive and is disconcerting at times." She glances at Carver. "But don't worry about your sister, she's aware of this outing and didn't try to stop her or anything. She's never mentioned to me about not being your friend so I don't see why she'd try and stop Merrill."

Carver shakes his head. "I know she tells stories. Mostly exaggerated. If she felt threatened, she'd dredge out the worst of them until..."

Aveline shrugs. "I don't doubt she's heard them all already. Varric... can truly hold a grudge, one in particular from four years ago," she says with as shrug.

Carver flinches. "I'd wondered." His tone is a bit more subdued than it has been. _Still, that was years ago. I was a boy then, with my first sword._

"...I... only heard about it long after," Aveline says slowly. "And only in the barest of detail. I overheard Varric mention it to himself and pressed her on it later. Didn't know it was about you. She didn't want to tell me to be honest, but I can be stubborn too. So she made me promise not to... do anything about it." She glances at him sideways. "Didn't want you to get in trouble. Made Varric and Zevran both promise to not do anything either, I might add."

He gives a self-deprecatory chuckle. "That doesn't sound much like her." He thinks for a few steps, then adds, "She didn't even let us know she was okay. She ran off and we worried she was dead. Walks back in weeks later like nothing happened."

Aveline winces a little. "That... that must have been hard. For all of you. You thinking you might have killed your sister. Her thinking think you might have wanted to. Might try again. And your mother thinking a bit of both, I suppose."

Carver gives a hollow, cynical laugh. "Mother? You didn't know her, I suppose." He shakes his head. "All she thought about was poor, sweet Bethany with Mileen, and how Marian betrayed us. I might as well not have existed."

"That... well, I only met her in passing, but... yes, that was the impression I got," she allows. _Daft woman fought Hawke getting her to safety, even after watching those around her kneeling over dead. All for the chance that maybe she could have Bethany back, and fuck the children she still had._

Carver nods. "I left town -- Gamlen convinced me there'd be trouble if..." _If I'd killed my sister. If they found her body in a hole somewhere in Coalside._ He looks grim just thinking about it, and a little nervous. "I guess she didn't believe it was an accident."

"...a mistake, an act of passion, yes... but you don't _accidently_ draw your blade and stab someone, Carver." Aveline keeps her voice... non-accusatory, but it's a bit firmer than before. "I don't doubt you didn't mean to kill her. Or even really hurt her badly. But you're not a possessed or incompetent. If your sword came out, it's because you wanted to use it." She offers a slight smile then. "Well, no more incompetent than anyone is when they're filled with the stupidity of youth. Vangal knows I made some brilliant choices when I was younger."

He shakes his head. "She starts freezing things, I get twitchy. I was young and stupid, and I drew on her in anger. But I didn't mean to stab her. She lurched toward me to hit me, I panicked and fell back on my training."

Aveline nods slowly. "Mistake," she agrees. "And... not really the worst instincts to have- stabbing a mage that's _trying_ to get closer, that is. Most of the time they want distance, so if they're trying for touch range, it's probably a bad thing coming." She sighs. "As I understand it, she... doesn't remember much of the entire thing. Pain, shock and blood loss can really mess with you. She made it to Wynne's, got healed and moved into Varric's guest room. Surprised she didn't send a message though, that's not like Wynne."

"We did," chimes in Merrill, having drifted closer again. "Or well, she did and I was. The message. She asked me to go and tell you and your family that she was okay the day after. I spoke with your... uncle? He was... ummm... He wasn't very nice. I told him I was Hawke's friend and he starting going on about how she's moved out, left weeks ago." She glances away. "...then he called me a knife-ear and I... left. I'm sorry, I should have... tried again, on this is all my fault," she says, tears welling up.

Carver sighs. "It's not your fault. Gamlen was dung, plain and simple. I'm not the biggest elf fan myself, but he took it to new levels." He shakes his head. "When she deigned to show up again, she was cruel. She told Mother she was working in a brothel now, that she was happier there than at home. Broke her heart."

Merrill sniffs. "Wouldn't have thought she'd have cared," she says bitterly. "She was a cruel, uncaring meanie that hurt you and your sister both so much. I wish she'd died far earlier than she did. Maybe instead of Beth-"

"Merrill!" Aveline snaps. "That's enough! She's still his mother, you shouldn't say that!"

"You didn't know her back then," snaps Carver. "Bethany's death broke something inside her. She used to be..." Not kind, not super caring, but their mother, at least. Protective. "She used to smile. She used to care about life. She used to love us. Time was, she'd do anything to protect her babies. After Bethany, she just... gave up on living."

Merrill shudders, mentally renewing the promise Hawke had pulled from her. To not give up or obsess over her if... if she died. "That's why it would have been better..." she mutters, shifting awkwardly. She glances away, then bites her lip. "Would... should I suddenly remember plans?" she blurts out.

Carver sighs. "Maybe you should." he admits. "I don't mind dining alone, if you both want to go."

Merrill shakes her head vigorously. "No, you, Aveline and Hunter should eat. I'm the one that's weird," she says softly.

"Merrill, you're not..." Aveline trails off at the glare from the elf. "You shouldn't put yourself down like that."

"You're certainly the most humble elf I've ever met," Carver states, trying for humor.

She shrugs a little. "My tribe made it a point to let me know I was a very bad at being an elf," she says softly, eyes downcast. "Or at least very strange."

Sighing, Aveline moves to pull her into a tight hug. Merrill squeaks, caught off guard, but eagerly allows it. Aveline is even taller and bigger than Hawke, but it's very nice. A tiny bit jealous of her giant human tits, but very nice. "It was good of you to try, Merrill, but... maybe you should go have lunch with Zevran?" she murmurs.

_That's the other elf, isn't it._ Carver tries to keep his face neutral.

Merrill sighs a little, then nods. Pulling away from Aveline with a bit of reluctance, she look at Carver. "Sorry this... I'm sorry I wasn't able to... I'm glad you and Aveline are friends though," she says hopefully.

Carver sighs. "What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything wrong."

_Of course I did. Otherwise we could be friends. Family._ Merrill shrugs a little. _But I'm weird and strange and an elf and..._ A fierce surge of love for Hawke, for Zevran and all of her Clan, rushes through her. Even as wrong as she is, they love her. Accept her. "It's alright, Carver," she says firmly. "I'm just glad you're not alone. No-one deserves to be alone." She starts for him, then hesitates and then steps back. After a moment, she offers a hand. "I wish you well."

Carver shakes her hand firmly. "I can't say I'm glad my sister is marrying an elf, but... I suppose as far as elves go, you're not half bad."

"Thank you?" Merrill replies with some amusement. "You're the best person that's almost killed Hawke I know," she replies, sounding perfectly sincere.

"Oh, come on now!" he groans, releasing her hand. "It wasn't _that_ bad."

Merrill frowns. "... Carver, you caught her right in the gut," she says slowly, pressing a hand over her own stomach. "Liver and kidneys, intestines... honestly, it's a miracle she made it to Wynne's. She very nearly died."

He blanches, eyes widening. "You're exaggerating. I nicked her side, that's all."

Merrill uses a finger to trace a line a few inches from her bellybutton. "She still has the scar," she says quietly, studying him. "...you didn't realize," she says then. "That... explains a lot really."

"How would I have known? She never talks to me. She acts like--" He cuts off, shaking his head. By his face, he's clearly rattled, though his tone stays belligerent.

"She... thought you did. She doesn't remember it very well, but she thought... she thought you honestly meant to try and kill her," Merrill explains. "She tried to hide it, but she was terrified to go back."

"Marian. Terrified of _me_." His tone is absolutely incredulous. "Marian, terrified, even. That woman knows no fear."

Aveline scoffs. "Just because she tries to hide it behind bluster and banter doesn't mean she's not afraid," she says firmly. "Only the mad or the brain dead are entirely without fear. Training and faith can make it... irrelevant, but even paladins still know fear, however muted the emotion is to us." _Most of us, anyway, but that's not really relevant,_ she adds mentally.

"Why couldn't she be afraid of you?" Merrill asks.

"Marian's never been afraid in her life. She's always the first one to charge in and start swinging. I always used to scream at her because I was so sure she was going to get herself killed. As soon as someone said not to do something, she'd do it just to figure out why they said that." His scowl has given way now to a small, fond smile. "She and Be--" He coughs, his hand twitching before he continues. "She and Bethany used to seek out new occult practices just to try them, just to get away with it. And that in Golden Shores, where they'd burn you for witchcraft if you looked at the wrong person crosswise."

"Sounds more like she was trying to prove something," Aveline comments. "A lot of recruits are like that. Desperate to charge into trouble to prove how brave they are, afraid that someone will realize they're terrified."

_I've seen men like that. Marian's nothing like them,_ Carver thinks, automatically. He takes a moment, thinking back to the Marian he knew, before everything went badly, before she left him alone with Mother. _Those men -- boys, really -- are young and stupid, on their own for the first time. They pick fights with anyone who will listen to cover their fear, and they're always getting into scraps they can't win, just to prove they're hard enough. Marian was..._

_Marian was sixteen,_ he realizes slowly. _When we lived in Golden Shores, she was always picking fights she couldn't win. She was always so quick to anger, her temper getting the better of her just like mine did. After, she was away from home as often as she could be, but... when she was here, she'd blow up over nothing, and she was often the first one to take a swing. She was always taking dangerous jobs, as if to prove something. She was always taunting me about bringing in more money than me, even if it meant putting herself in more danger._

_Gods above, were we really such children?_

"The stupidity of youth," Aveline repeats gently. "Hard to... see the past with new eyes," she adds, approval clear in her voice.

Merrill smiles at him, the expression warm and grateful. "I should get going or I'll be late to my lunch date," she announces with a broad wink. "You three have fun, okay?" she adds, kneeling to give Hunter the proper goodbye due a noble doggo.

"You too," says Carver automatically, still reeling a little. Hunter licks Merrill's hand, wagging his tail stump happily.

Pressing a kiss to Hunter's head, the shaman heads off, humming to herself. Not how she might have hoped, but not bad!

"You look like you could use an ale or two," Aveline comments kindly.

"For sure."

~*~

Carver takes a long pull from his third mug of ale before continuing his story: "So then, what does she do? She climbs right up onto the roof and tries to coax the chicken back down!"

"What? Why?" Aveline asks with a laugh. "It's a chicken, it'd flutter down by itself when it got hungry, wouldn't it? I mean, they do have wings, don't they?"

"Exactly! But Bethany was feeling so bad for the poor dear, so up Marian climbs, lickity split." Carver shakes his head, laughing deeply. "My sisters, right? I had to go hunt up a ladder to get her and that damn chicken back down."

"Because of course she wouldn't wait to use a ladder," Aveline agrees. "As soon as a loved one is in danger- or turns sad eyes on her- her brain skips right over self-preservation and jumps right to 'fix it right away.' I love her dearly, but she can be such a goof."

"Goof is one word for it," he laughs. "I would have said reckless and foolhardy." He doesn't sound angry, despite the harsh language -- more, amused at her shenanigans.

"I can't be too hard on her for it, given that I picked a career that boils down to putting myself in harm's way to keep an entire populace- many of which are jerks or idiots- safe," she says with a shrug as she scoops up the last of her stew. "This wasn't bad," Aveline adds, gesturing at their food.

"You at least get paid for it," he points out. "I can respect being a guard," he adds, more seriously. "I've thought about retiring to the guard myself, one of these days. Before I piss off an angry dragon," he jokes.

"It's a good job. And with your current job, you'd have plenty of experience at training. The guard is always looking for people to teach at recruits. I'd be willing to fight that angry dragon myself if it got me a dozen more trainers," she says with a groan.

"How's the pay?" he asks, without even thinking about it.

"Full time? Starts around fifteen copper, but with experience, you could get eighteen. Three years gets you a bump of five to seven, then one every year after until ten. Midshift meal as well." She shrugs. "It's not as high as most merc jobs, but it's steadier. And if you're hurt, the city pays for your healing and half wages for any recovery time. Plus there's a pension after two decades of a third of your pay at retirement for fifty years or until you get a new job. Or half after four decades for the same.

Carver nods. "I've learned never to take a job while drinking, but it's a strong offer."

"Good lesson," Aveline says with a chuckle. "Keep the offer in mind, like I said, we're also short on trainers but... what's the story behind the no-booze bargaining?" she asks with a grin.

He laughs. "Hah! You'll like this one. It was a few years ago, back when I was still struggling to break in..."


	8. "You don't sound like you want it to be someday."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is told about Hawke's upcoming nuptials. Hawke fires another minder. Aveline's true feelings are revealed.

Marian gathers up the empty breakfast bowls, pressing a kiss to her Papa's temple as she carries them to the sink. "We'll go look at that house this afternoon? I can meet up with you at Wynne's, I was going to head there after I'm done this morning." That's odd -- when Varric had totally accidentally peeked in her planner, he had seen her morning wide open.

Varric studies her a moment, then comments, "sure. Actually, you know what? I have the day free until evening, I'll just tag along this morning so we can go right there."

"Oh, you'll be bored," she laughs.

"Eh, I'll bring a book. Or, better, I'll work on my outline," he says brightly.

Hawke sighs. "I was going to Summerhill," she says, carefully. "I wasn't sure if..."

Varric stares at her flatly. She runs a hand through her hair. "Yeah, alright. Let's go." she says, sounding defeated.

He sighs a little. "Would you prefer Moonbe- bad idea. Shadow or Lawful instead of me?" he asks.

"Are you planning to shoot him again?" she asks, flatly.

He flinches, the movement honest and unguarded. "I- no, I'm not. Damnit Hawke, I-" He glares at her. "I thought we'd put that behind us."

She sighs, turning away slightly. "We had. Have. I'm just. I'm nervous about how this is going to go, and the last thing I want is...." She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I'm sorry. I just don't want there to be a fight."

He sighs as well. "Yeah. Me either. I still... I still don't like the guy all that much but he _is_ better. I was serious though. I don't... I don't want you going alone, but... it's your choice. And I'd be just as happy if it was someone else as me. Just not Moonbeam. That's... just going to add oil to it, I'd think."

Hawke nods, slowly. "Then... I suppose, who better to bring than someone who already learned that lesson?" she asks, quietly. "I didn't... ever tell him it was you, you know."

"Oh." Varric thinks that over a moment. "I... alright, good to know before I say something about it or whatever. Do, ah, you have anything you... are you just telling him about the marriage or... anything else planned?"

"I was hoping... you know I visit with him sometimes, still, right? I was hoping, if he was doing well, he might attend." She cringes in preparation for the scolding.

"If the healers think he's ready for it..." he replies with a shrug. "Not like I'm not having security there already."

"You're really okay with it?" she asks, quietly, looking up in surprise.

"Not happy, no, but okay? Yeah. Like I said, if the healer's say he's stable enough after today's talk for it, then... he's important to you. He should be there," he replies.

Hawke smiles at him in relief, offering her hand. "Thank you."

He grips it a moment. "Right then. So... anything else on the agenda in regards to him? How do you want to... do this?"

"I figured I'd bring it up during our usual visit, and see how it goes."

He nods. "Alright... you want me to be invisible then?"

"We could pretend you were curious. I'm cool either way."

"As much as my instincts want me to be invisible because it's better for an ambush, probably better to plan for _not_ having an ambush in the first place," he replies after a moment.

She winces. "Yeah, that sounds good. So you'll walk in with me?"

"Yeah, more honest if nothing else," he confirms.

"Good. Oh, uh, it's a little further than you're probably expecting. He moved out to their satellite building some time ago..."

~*~

Summerhill Satellite Campus turns out to be beyond the city walls; they hire a coach to take them there so they can enjoy the ride. It's got walls itself, of course, though they are not nearly so enchanted as the typical city walls. Inside is, of all things, a sprawling farm; they're growing wheat, they have their own well, and they have cows, chickens, goats. The coach takes them to the main building, and Hawke leads him to an office, with Anders' name on the door, knocking before entering.

Anders embraces her in a friendly hug as soon as she enters, pulling back to press a kiss to her forehead. "Marian! And-- oh, I'm sorry. Varric, good to see you." He offers a handshake to the dwarf, a warm smile on his face. He looks older -- there are more lines than time alone can account for etched into his face. He stands taller now, and his clothing is a simple, professional frockcoat and trousers.

"Good to see you doing so well," Varric replies with only a slight hesitation. "Place looks like. Hear no small part of that comes back to your doing."

"Well, I can't take all the credit, but I did suggest the idea." He gives a wry grin. "Turns out, communal living and a sense of purpose is great for the soul. I wonder why nobody's tried that on a larger scale."

Hawke laughs. "Stop it, you."

Anders holds up his hands, palm out. "Alright, alright, I'm just saying."

Varric snorts. "I was more saying the attention some of your work on using Delving and other magics for mind healing but yeah, that too... Comrade Healer," he replies, glancing around. He sniffs the air a few times.

"Bah. I have and always will maintain that Marian deserves the credit for that. Had she not agreed to test the procedure on myself, we could never have done what we're doing here. The little I added since then is only an afterthought." He winces slightly, and Marian swats at his chest.

"Hey, I know that look."

"Yes, I know. I wasn't in my right mind at the time. But you have to admit, it was... stressful, at the least, even if no harm was done."

"And I told you I forgive you for it. So let's not dwell on the past."

"Of course. Come in, sit down." Anders leads them to his desk, and the pair of chairs in front of it.

Varric follows them, taking slow breathes at they go. "Okay, what is that smell?" he demands, looking around.

Anders blinks. "Fresh air?"

"..." He sniffs again, giving Anders an eyeroll. "Not that, I know what fresh air smells like, thank you. Weird, but I've had it before. That... musty smell. Almost like the bad parts of Coalside, but less rot and smoke."

"Ah, the cows. You stop noticing it after a while, but I suppose it does kind of get everywhere." He nods.

"...that's what my steak smells like before it's food?" he mutters, rethinking his diet.

Hawke cricks her neck, a smug grin on her face. "Anyway. How have you been?"

Smalltalk ensues; Anders talks about coworkers Hawke seems familiar with, and animals she's met in passing. After a while, he asks how she's doing, and she chews her lower lip for a moment. "Ah, well, great, actually," she says, forcing a smile. "I got engaged," she begins, conversationally.

"Congratulations." Anders smiles; as Hawke searches his face, he chuckles. "It took you long enough. I was beginning to wonder if you'd just kept your nuptials from me altogether."

"Ah, no, I wouldn't-- that is, ah..." She blushes. "Everyone really did know before me, didn't they?"

He chuckles again. "No, I just recall the way he doted on you, and the way you talk about him."

Varric winces. "Ah.. she," he comments. "Shadow- Zevran's not the marrying type."

Anders raises his eyebrows. "I... suppose I can see that. Forgive me, I thought--" He shakes his head, rueful. "But, you've always been a surprise."

"Yes, well, I'm marrying Merrill," she confirms. "First, anyway. It turns out you can get married more than once in Nyra."

"Can you?" he says, surprised. "I suppose I should have looked into that, but..."

"I know, I know. You hadn't planned on proposing so fast, it just came out that way."

He winces. "Quite."

"Would you... like to attend?"

Anders considers the question, steepling his fingers together as he gives it some thought.

"We're having a combined dwarven/elven wedding. A handfasting first, then a dwarven ceremony afterwards," Varric comments. "About twenty, thirty people tops."

Anders nods. "If you'll have me, yes, I think would like to attend. If nothing else, to give my congratulations -- and apologies -- to Merrill in person."

"Given her 'must family all the family' kick she's been on, i think she'd like that," Varric says with a faint smile.

Anders blinks. "What?"

Varric shakes his head a little. "Not really important. Just that Merrill would love to have as many of Hawke's people there as possible."

Anders nods, slowly. "Is she... well, you would hardly have asked me without running it past her first, I suppose," he chuckles.

Marian looks away with a weak chuckle. "Right, of course."

"Hawke..." begins Varric.

She rubs the back of her head. "I'm sure it'll be fine. She knows you've changed. I've talked about it." _A little._

Varric nods a little. "That's probably fair, like I just said, she's been really on a family kick. She... might want to grill you on your, ah, intentions," he admits. "But she should be fine once she's assured herself you're not going to... well. Ask any impulsive questions?"

Anders shakes his head. "No. I've ah..." He blushes faintly. "To be frank, I've sworn off women entirely. I don't like the person I became, and I'm not entirely convinced it won't happen again."

"That's... one way to solve the issue," Varric admits, a bit perplexed by the entire thing. _So... people can just.. turn that off? I mean, the entire thing is just plain weird, so why not? Never heard people talk about being able to do this before though so probably not... maybe it's just a Anders thing? Wouldn't surprise me._

"That's a little.." Hawke sighs. "You don't have to do that."

Anders smiles. "It's no great hardship. To be honest, I had never had that much interest in women before I met you. Suddenly, possibilities opened up that I never thought I'd have. It was... dangerously intoxicating."

Hawke smiles. "You talk about me like I'm a bottle of whiskey."

_That'd be nice,_ thinks Varric. _A nice malt whisky. Or maybe a rye. A bit of bite might be nice..._ "So anyway. We'll put you down as a 'yes, no guest' then?" he asks abruptly.

"That sounds appropriate. I doubt my boyfriend would want to attend in any event," Anders says with a smile.

"What, what? I thought you-" the Dwarf cuts off, shaking his head. "Sure, whatever," he mutters. _So. Damn. Weird._

Hawke nods. "I'll talk to Merrill. If she's okay with it, I'll send a formal invitation. If not, I'll send you an announcement instead?"

"Of course. Please, don't go to any trouble for me. It's a lovely gesture, but I don't need to attend."

~*~

Hawke was twitchy. Rushwald wasn't sure why his new charge's leg was bouncing up and down; this seemed to be a perfectly ordinary social call, between zi'Huntinghawk and zi'Hawke, but Hawke was distracted, twitching and shifting. It seemed to be related to the boy hovering around the edges of the room: a catfolk in robes, with serious green eyes. That had to be a servant; there were very few catfolk among the nobility of Nyra, even in their hangers-on and attendants.

"And you're sure?" Hawke was asking, for perhaps the fourth time. The redheaded elf narrowed her eyes.

"Do you doubt my talents, zi'Hawke?"

"No, no. Of course not. Forgive me, it's been a trying week. I will pick up the shipment next week?"

"Acceptable."

As soon as the deal is made, Hawke jumps to her feet, shaking hands with Huntinghawk before turning to leave. And Rushwald is _right there_. Less than three feet from her. Again. Big old craggy face, salt and pepper closely cropped beard and intense black eyes locked onto her as if she might vanish if he blinks. "Gah! Stop it," she snaps, bringing her staff to bear in front of her protectively.

"Ma'am," he replies in his deep voice. Which is like one of only a dozen phrases he's said the entire week he's been stalking her. Sorry, _assigned_ to her.

_Astea's grace, this one isn't working out any better than the last._ Hawke pulls a step back from her guard, then goes around-- only to jump when she sees the catfolk standing there, holding the door for her. He gives a stiff, offended bow, and she winces.

"Thanks, uh, Nikolaos was it?"

"Indeed. You are quite welcome, Sage."

_Let's just get out of here._ Hawke winces as she slips out the door, Rushwald only a few paces behind her, within arm's reach off her left hand. _Hovering._

As they leave Huntinghawk's place, she heads for home, crossing the bottom corner of Blossom. As they walk, Hawke spots Rosalie walking along, her toddler on her hip. She's dressed nicely, almost demurely, giving no hint of her profession, but the simple plainness of her outfit reveals she's middle class at best. And her boy's catfolk features implies it's lower middle class if one is feeling snobbish.

Spotting Hawke, Rosalie gives a wave and changes paths to intercept. She's smiling and relaxed, so it's probably just her being social. Hawke might not know her as well as Zevran, but Rosalie is one of his best, and has been acting as shift supervisor for a few months now so Hawke's had more conversation with her than most of the others.

"Rosalie!" Hawke begins to relax -- there's friends around, she's okay, she's safe. As awkward as she was feeling around Nikolaos, Rosalie's son isn't old enough to make her twitchy. "Have you heard the news?"

Just as they get close enough to converse easily, Rushward, moves past Hawke to interpose himself between the two. Rosalie falters a bit, eyes darting to Hawke. She's obviously a little but off, especially as he doesn't say anything, just stands there. "Ah... no? I don't think so?" she answers warily.

Hawke brings her staff down on the back of her guard's head -- not hard, just enough for him to feel it. "Move." she snaps.

He stiffens, taking a step to the side. "Ma'am, are you sure?" he asks carefully, eyes still more on Rosalie, who has stiffened a little as she realizes what the issue is.

"Am I sure **what** ," she asks, her voice dripping with frozen fury. "Am I sure that I'd like to have a chat with one of my dearest friends without your interference? Yes. Quite."

"Understood, ma'am," he says, stepping entirely out of the way, his expression bland. The issue evidently resolved as far as he's concerned, he begins to watch the area around them warily.

Rosalie gives him a dirty look but then pointedly ignores him as she shifts her babe on her hip. From the look of it, he's conked out, probably napping after playing. "So what's your news?" she says brightly, smiling warmly at Hawke for standing up for her.

Hawke grins. "I'm getting married!"

"Madame Zevvy agreed to _marry_?" Rosalie exclaims, shocked at the idea of it. "I mean, I assume it's the three of you? Or- the _four_ of you?" she corrects, recalling the wandering Isabela.

"No, no," she laughs. "Merrill proposed a, what they call [open marriage], which is where we're married but not, ah, sole partners." The term is Sylvan, and new to Hawke.

"Ah," the whore says slowly, then beams. "When's the wedding?" she demands. "Exactly."

Hawke laughs, giving her the date. "It's planned to be a small affair, with the reception at Voice afterward. We've booked the place out."

"Da-ggnabit," she says awkwardly, glancing down at her son. "Dominique won the gold pot then. Still, I got a share of the silver," Rosalie says philosophically.

To the side, Rushwald stiffens, the change slight enough that only Hawke notices. His eyes are on a figure about fifty feet away. A merc or adventurer, wearing her leathers but with a clearly peacebonded blade on her hip, walking by with someone dressed in a nice suit. Neither looks particularly hostile, absorbed in their conversation with each other as they are

_Oh, for love of--_ "I'm glad, Dominique deserves a win after how badly she misjudged the last bet." Hawke shifts her grip on her staff a little. "Where are you headed? I was thinking of doing some sparring this afternoon." _And showing my guard I'm not a fucking child and can take care of myself._

Rosalie glances down again, this time with a fond, loving smile. "Just spending my day with my little man here. We were enjoying the sun for a bit. He likes to watch the trees move in the wind," she explains. The boy's only just a year old, so it's not like he has firm opinions of anything yet but he seems content enough right now, dozing at his mother's side.

Marian smiles at the baby warmly. "How is my favorite kitten doing?"

~*~

A few days after visiting Anders, Hawke is curled up against Aveline. She'd spent the night, the first night she'd done so since Rosemary, though that's at least in part due to Aveline having been doing at three or four extended shifts every week for the last month and a half. She'd been close-mouthed about why, merely saying it was guard business and she can't speak on it. They hadn't done anything last night, Aveline evidently content to just hold Hawke.

The older woman had slept like a rock, even now, two hours past sunrise, she's still completely out. She'd been a little distracted last night as well, come to think of it... Hawke's musing is disrupted before it can really get anywhere on the subject by a soft whine from off the side of the bed.

Hawke snaps alert at once -- Silence had only whined like that a few times, and each time it had been a major problem Hawke had to solve. She sits up, looking over-- and blinks in confusion. _Right. That's Beka. I'm at Aveline's house._ She relaxes into a smile, reaching to pat the dog. "What's wrong, girl?" she asks, as she slides out of bed and into a pair of slippers.

Beka shuffles a little, then slips out of the bedroom. Reaching the back door, she whines again, the sound more an answer than a real sign of pain.

_Ah. Right, mabari or not, she still lacks thumbs._ Hawke pulls on a robe, tying it shut as she moves to the door. "I'm sorry, girl, I kept your Mistress in bed longer than usual." She opens it for the dog, and Beka presses against her leg as she slips out, a show of forgiveness. _She normally takes a half hour to patrol the yard and just stretch a bit when she's first let out, so she'll be fine on her own._

As Hawke heads back to the bedroom, she sees Aveline has curled up on herself, and seems troubled despite still being asleep. _Trouble?_ Hawke drops the robe on top of the slippers she steps out of, sliding back into bed and curling her nude body around Aveline's, holding her gently. Aveline had given her a thoughtful, considering look last night when Hawke had stripped entirely before bed, but hadn't commented. The guardswoman had worn sleeping clothes, as she always does. Even one the nights they do have sex, Aveline always rises to wash up and dress before sleeping, though she doesn't bother with as much clothing on those nights- just some loose shorts and a shirt instead of the long flannel sleepwear she uses most times.

Aveline tenses even more as Hawke gets in the bed, but relaxes at her touch, her body recognizing it in asleep. Her brow smoothes out and she leans back a little against the magus. "'ata," she sleep mumbles.

"My love," Hawke whispers by way of reply. "Are your dreams pleasant?" she asks, stroking Aveline's stomach through the flannel.

Aveline sighs a little as she settles back against Hawke, one hand coming up to capture Hawke's. Her grip isn't hindering the hand's movements, instead keeping it from leaving. Hawke pulls her close. "I'm here," she murmurs. Aveline turns a little so she can slip an arm around under Hawke, still asleep. She seems to have moved out of whatever dream was bothering her and fallen into a much more restful sleep.

Forty minutes later, Hawke is lightly drowsing when she feels Aveline begin to finally stir. She starts with a soft growl, then a groan followed by her rolling her shoulders and growling again. Every time, the same sequence- and Aveline doesn't ever remember it or believe Hawke she does it either. Hawke stifles a laugh at the sight, grinning. "Good morning," she says, quietly.

"...smite mornings," the Paladin mumbles, burrowing into her pillow. "...bright."

Hawke chuckles. "Did you sleep well?"

"I..." She tenses suddenly, eyes opening to seek out Hawke's face. She takes a slow breath. "...well enough, I suppose." Aveline smiles weakly. "Better with you there," she tries to add lightly.

Hawke's smile fades away. "What happened?"

"...just... sleep muddled thoughts," she says after moment, not wanting to burden Hawke with her troubles.

"Don't lie," the Hero asks. "I'll back off, but if I can't lie to you, don't lie to me."

Aveline winces. "Not... a lie exactly. I... know it's just... stupid thoughts mixing in my head, I just.." She sighs, resting her head on Hawke's chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, quietly. "You seemed to be having nightmares."

"How long have you-" she breaks off to glance at the window. "It's later than I-oh. I have to put Beka out, poor girl," she groans, starting to get up.

"She's out." Hawke doesn't move, keeping her arms around Aveline.

"Oh." Aveline relaxes then, giving Hawke thankful smile. "I... did I.. say anything?"

Hawke sighs. "No." _She doesn't want me to know. Does she think she's burdening me? Or that i'd be hurt by it? Whatever it is, she wanted me her-- oh. Astea, I'm sorry, Aveline._ She instinctively tightens her grip into a hug.

Aveline gives her a somewhat startled look, but doesn't struggle against the hug. "I... some of it is.. work. I can't talk about... most of that, exactly," she says slowly, shifting so she's partially atop Hawke, her face out of her line of sight.

"Understandable." _And the rest?_

"I... I'm sure you've noticed I've been rather busy of late?" At Hawke's nod, she continues. "There's been some... trouble in Coalside. I can't tell you about it, we've been ordered to keep it in house, no adventurers or mercs at all," she adds quickly. "But it's coming at a poor time. I..." she pauses, suddenly realizing, "did I ever- did I never mention... damnit, Aveline..."

"I'm pretty sure you've mentioned 'dammit Aveline' a time or two," the magus chuckles.

Aveline thumps Hawke with her shoulder. "Brat," she mutters. "During... a few months ago, I, ah, lost my temper a bit. A lot. More... personal anger than I'd felt before. Wynne noticed and... I'm suli? Not human. Evidently one of grandparents wasn't entirely human."

"Interesting," Hawke says, carefully. "I assume you're okay with it?"

"It was... jarring to find out about myself, but not a _bad_ thing. I just wish I'd known before my parents had passed and I could have asked them about it.," she replies. "No, the problem isn't about my reaction. Shortly after I found out, I updated my file as required by regulation. It's supposed to only matter for medical issues or the like, but... after a month or so, it somehow got out and.. I've been getting some trouble about. Some people not wanting a non-human as a captain, some people claiming I was passing out of shame or the like, and thus a racist. Others saying that if I was hiding this, then what else am I hiding... Not many people, of any of those groups, but enough that it's making the other trouble worse."

Hawke's arm chills, but she keeps her tone light. "That sounds fun."

"Loads," is the deadpan reply. "So that's why I've been so busy. Full shifts to deal with the Coalside issue, then extra time trying to put the new wave of rumors and bullshit to bed."

"I'm sorry, my love. That really sounds hard."

"Nothing I've not dealt with before in different guises," she assures her. "It's just stressing me out and... making me... muddle fears together in dark places of my mind."

_Muddle fears like my death._ "I'm sorry," Hawke whispers.

"...I... I was at work. Half of Coalside was on fire, and I was trapped in a meeting about petty bullshit and none of them even noticed," she whispers. "Felt like I was there for days, pleading to go, begging them to notice and...."

"That sounds horrid." Hawke's voice is soft, her hands warmer than they had been already.

She hesitates there, not wanting to hurt Hawke but... stupid dwarf. "I... I don't believe this. Not for a moment," she says fiercely, pulling back to lock eyes with Hawke. "I love you. I know you love me. Forever and always. I trust you."

Hawke blinks, staring at her. "Uh. You're awake? I'm really here? I'm confused."

"What? I know I'm- oh, sodding words," she realizes. "No, I was just... prefacing the next bit. After- after the office part. I'm walking home. Coalside is a ruins but it's settled. I don't know how or anything just that it is. Then I'm here and so are you. Except for some reason, it's... it's not my house anymore. You've... gotten fed up with waiting and now you're married with someone- I don't know who- and you're telling me to leave. That you have someone willing to make time for you."

Hawke's eyes widen, and she covers Aveline's mouth with her own, firmly, pouring her love into a kiss. "Thank you for prefacing that," she says quietly, when she pulls back.

After a long kiss- or two or three- Aveline rests her forehead against Hawke's. "I... do sometimes worry i don't spend enough time with you. But it's never... I'm not afraid you'll leave, just that you deserve more."

Hawke nods just a little, just enough to let Aveline recognize the gesture without pulling free of her forehead. "In truth, I was worried you were dreaming about... Momento Mori. I know you don't... " She sighs.

Aveline winces. "I've had that one a few times. But not for a while now," she assures Hawke, then adds carefully, "no more often than I dream of Wesley... dying."

Hawke nods. "It's still my deepest regret that you had to see that -- I know how experiencing something can lead to more realistic nightmares than imagining it -- but... On a happier note, I'll just say that I'll gladly marry you if and when you want to take that step. I love you, and I will never intentionally leave you."

"I know," Aveline says, a little sad but loving. "Maybe... maybe in time. But with this suli nonsense, I really can't afford to have another line on my record people can attack me over." She could reply to the first part but... enough of that sort of talk for one morning.

"I'll be here," she says, gently, stroking Aveline's cheek. "Now, shall we see about some eggs?"

An hour later and the pair- well trio, as Beka has been brought in as well- have eaten and showered. Having a blissful day off, Aveline votes for curling up in her living room and reading or something that doesn't involve walking or paperwork. They just cuddle for a bit, sharing mindless small talk.

Eventually, Hawke makes mention that she's let Anders know about the wedding, which turns their conversation to that for a bit. Aveline hesitates for a moment, unsure if she should mention this but.. "Some related to that... you know how Merrill got it in her head to... broker a peace between you and Carver? Did.. she ever mention how our lunch outing went?"

She shakes her head. "It sounded like it went badly. Whatever he said to her..." Her hand balls into a fist. "I could smack him for that."

"He was actually rather nice. A few dirty looks when she brought up her magic- or you- but it ended rather well between them honestly. I... I hadn't realized he had a bias against elves, though... his parting was something like 'wish my sister wasn't marrying an elf, but you're better than most' or something. Not the most flattering of praise but for him...." She shrugs, rubbing Hawke's back soothingly.

Hawke gives her a flat look. "She told me she wasn't fit to be anyone's friend. And you tell me he's a racist now."

"I... think he associates elves with being passed over or abandoned," she explains. "He's not... cruel about it, just some resentment. And he's aware of it, I think. Aware that it's not good, I mean." She pauses then. "Not fit to be anyone friend? That seems... excessive for what happened," Aveline notes. "She didn't seem that sad when she left."

Hawke sighs, forcing her hand to unball. "That's Merrill," she says, glumly. "I wish she was more self-confident but... She takes things hard and doesn't show it. He wasn't cruel? You're sure?"

"Unreceptive at worst," Aveline confirms. "He was... a little standoffish, maybe even curt, when he was trying to figure out why she was suddenly pushing herself into his life, that was it. He even thanked her a few times. No, what I was going to bring up was... well, the stabbing incident. His side of it."

Marian stills. "Listening," she says, curtly enough that for a moment she wonders if she accidentally said it in Dwarven.

"He... you know how good I am at knowing if someone is lying. He didn't realize how bad it was. That was why... after you showed up at Wynne's, Merrill went the next day, to tell them you were alright. Gamlen told her you hadn't been living there for weeks, insulted her rather badly and then never mentioned it to Carver or Leandra." Aveline takes a deep breath, still rubbing Hawke's back. "So when you showed up a week or so later, unharmed and not saying a word about it, he thought you'd just gotten a nick and then ran off for a week. He was... he was honestly stricken that he almost killed you."

Hawke is quiet for a long moment, processing. Finally, she sighs, burying her face in her hands. "That...sounds like him." _And Gamlen. And Mother -- the whole 'not being in the story' sounds exactly like her. Fuck, what have I been doing my whole adult life? I should have gone back, should have let him apologize, should have..._

Hawke jerks, a sudden pain in the back of the head informing her she's been swatted. "Stop it."

She flinches. "Sorry, sorry," she says, pulling a guilty face. "It's just... Thank you for telling me." She sighs. "I'd better talk to him. We're planning a huge ceremony, he'll want to be involved and... I honestly should invite him myself."

"He did have some doubt you actually want him there," Aveline admits.

Hawke nods. "Let's leave it at that, then. So, Merrill's been telling me what a handfasting entails. Apparently, it's traditionally held outdoors, so we're looking for a venue. And the flowers are important; different blossoms mean different things..."

As they talk about the wedding, Hawke notices an odd look in Aveline's eyes -- not always, but frequently, and rapidly dismissed. Like when she mentions coming up with vows. Or when she mentions getting dresses fitted. When she trails off, a sappy grin in place at the though of kissing Merrill for the first time as wives. It takes a few tries, but Hawke finally places the look: she's wistful and sad. And maybe just a little envious.

"So Varric is booking the main Astean chapel? That's nice of him," Aveline comments. "I gather he's going all out for his little girl?" she adds, a bit of smile lurking.

"Sure, of course. He's only ever going to have the one, so he might as well. I'm sure he'll be just as generous for your and my wedding," she adds, giving Aveline a crafty look.

And there's the look, though there's some resignation there as well. "Yeah... someday, right?"

Hawke reaches out for Aveline's hand. "You don't sound like you want it to be someday." Her voice is quiet.

"What? No, I do want to ma-" She cuts off as she realizes what Hawke actually meant. "I..." She sags a little against the sofa. "No, I don't. But I can't. It would... I don't need to be married to have you in my life and it would probably cost me my position. Especially now that this... bullshit about my race is happening." She shakes her head a little. "Anyway, you were saying about the church?"

"Do you... want to swear something anyway? Not marriage, maybe, but..." She hesitates. "There's a... custom. I don't know, it doesn't really apply, but.."

Aveline stills. "...I... I'm listening," she says carefully.

Hawke closes her eyes. "In the early days of Nyra, one of the Founders left a young son as his heir when he passed. Founder Touchstone the Third, I believe, was the son. He was only four years old, so there was no way he could inherit, but there was no other blood relative who could take the seat in the interim. They had his father's steward -- some said, gay lover -- Vuduin swear an oath, a... it's a religious thing, apparently, from the Church of Vangal. An [Oath of the Sworn Protector], it was called." Hawke slips into Elven for the term, having read the story in an Elven record-book. "It was meant to be for becoming a regent; it gave him the power to make decisions for Touchstone. The thing is, when Touchstone came of age, he chose not to dissolve it. It seems he had entered into a romantic relationship with Vuduin. The two treated the Oath as though it were a marriage vow, but they were never legally married."

"[Oath of Faithful Guardianship]," Aveline murmurs in Celestial before attempting to broker a translation: "Oath of... Devoted Care and... Guidance, is... closer. I've... heard of it before. It's... Hawke, how much do you know about it? About...the authority it would give me over your affairs?"

Hawke shrugs. "Is it more than a spouse would get?"

"It's a regent position, so it's closer to a parent. Even if you're adult... I could override your choices about yourself. I couldn't... say, order you to vote a certain way, get married or make any choices about your children. But I could require you to live where I want you to, enforce medical care of my choosing... ummm. I think I can restrict your access to your own finances. I have to provide a certain amount, depending on your total worth or something? And I could block marriages or life-oaths. Like swearing to a church. Can't force you to do so, but I could stop you." She takes a deep breath. "Hawke, that would be... a lot of power."

"Would you?" she asks, quietly. "I have a father, and I'll have a wife. I'll be able to annul it at any point, since I'm over the age of majority. But... I don't think I'm capable of not trusting you that much, not anymore. I've seen your soul, Aveline. You would never hurt me."

"You break me, amata," Aveline whispers. "In so many ways that I never realized were holding me together, holding me in place." She leans forward to kiss Hawke sweetly. "Alright. If... we'll look it up, make sure it fits and... alright. I... I'll swear to you." Her lips curve against Hawke's. "But I'm still going to want to marry you one day. I want to be your wife. For you to be my wife. To raise a child with you. With our Clan."

Hawke nods. "Agreed. As soon as you'll have me."


	9. "Describe the moment you realized you were in love."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets married. Carver gets laid. Helene has relationship troubles.

On her wedding day, Merrill is a vision in silk and lace, her veil doing little to dull the shine in her eyes. Marian wears a Glalian suit and tailcoat, complete with a small top hat to complete the look. The pair are handfasted in a grove an hour's ride outside Nyra, in the direction of the remains of Golden Shores; the ride back is a parade, with the couple riding in an open-air coach, Zevran in the seat beside the driver to "guard" them (as if Marian needed an honor guard).

The traditional faux-attack comes when they are almost to Nyra; Isabela, Carver, Bartrand, and a few others pretend to battle the Clan for Merrill's hand. Marian wins, of course, carrying her laughing bride into the city gates before kissing her deeply. The Dwarven portion of the wedding is next, taking place in the Temple of Astea. It is here where Aveline waits, having snuck into the church during the battle portion of the festivities; Varric walks Marian down the aisle, and the pair exchange vows of commitment and honor before the gathered crowd, with Seli officiating as she had in the handfasting. Then, Varric walks Merrill to them, and Aveline administers the pair's vows herself, voice thick with unshed tears of joy.

More were invited to the Dwarven ceremony than the Elven one, and more still to the reception afterward at the Voice. They fill the small building, drinking and laughing, everyone seeming to enjoy themselves immensely.

Some a little too immensely.

~*~

Carver awakens with a hand curled around his waist and a splitting headache. For a moment, the one outweighs the other, and he smiles a small, contented smile. _Guess I found someone last night. I hope she's attractive. And not crazy. Generally sane would make a nice change._

Then he opens one eye. The first thing he sees is long black hair -- a good sign. The next thing is a black, curved horn. _Not okay!_ He opens the other eye, catching his breath as he struggles to remember this woman. _She's probably a tiefling. You probably didn't fuck a demon. Get a grip, Carver._

_If that's the back of her head, whose arm is around my waist?_ He rolls over, suddenly rather more interested in the bedroom situation than his pounding head. The sleeping face he finds opposite him is delicate, attractive, and (thankfully) blond. _Okay. A tiefling and an aasimar. I seem to remember something about that._

He extricates himself from the arm, struggling to sit up. There's a warm body in his lap. _A... foursome?_ He groans. _I really hope this isn't one of the brides. That would be awkward._ He props himself up on his elbows enough to look down at the face in his lap. _Elven. White hair. Oh no. Oh gods above no._

"Uggggh," the elf in his lap groans softly. "That is the last time I let Varric select the booze," he mutters. _He_ mutters. "I say yet again," he adds as he shifts a little. Spotting a nearby tail, he smiles. _Ah, Lux. But of course._

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ "fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" _you're saying that out loud_ "this is NOT happening!" The sound of Carver's own voice makes him wince, a metaphorical crossbow bolt spearing him through the forehead.

"Ah, loud bad," Zevran hisses. "...who..?" he looks up, the movement revealing that yes, Carver is not wearing pants. Or anything else. "Oh my."

Carver sucks in a breath with a hiss. He begins wriggling backward, trying to get out from under Zevran. "No. I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare." Faintly, he notices that he's not lying on a bed, per se. The floor? Where the hell is he?

Zevran helpfully sits up as well, peering around. "...we... are at Voice? Well, that's handy," he mutters. This is the Lounge Pad Room- no beds, just thick carpeting that's close to pillowed blankets. Also affectionately known as the Orgy Room. "I am... thinking hangover tonics for all, no?"

Carver manages to sit up enough to look around. It seems the four of them have fallen in a tangle, and they're not the only tangle. Several people are awake already, beginning to rouse their partners and... someone's got a tray with little cups of juice. Why the hell is there a tray of cups of juice?! "This didn't happen. I did _not_ get tricked into fucking my sister's pet drow," he groans. _And two ladies. Focus on the-- those are **not** women_ "What the fuck?!"

"Who," one of the people walking around replies with a smirk, having not heard the first bit. "And by the look of it... Lux, Nox and Madame Zevvy himself," she adds with a wink, starting over with one of the trays.

Before she gets there, Nox pushes himself up, expression flinty. "What did you call him?" he demands.

"Madame?!" Every time Carver raises his voice, the bolt drills further into his skull, and yet, somehow, he can't stop. "That is no madam! Have you all gone mad?!"

"Gods above, shut up," groans Isabela, nursing a cup of juice from across the room while she cradles her head in one hand.

"It's tradition- the head whore of a high class brothel is a madame," the woman- a naked kitsune in fur form Carver would be rather interest in viewing on any other morning- explains, a frown forming.

"Perhaps you would like some privacy to-" Zevran tries to diffuse things.

"No one tricked you, bucko," Nox cuts in, pushing his messy gold hair out of his face. "You're the one that reached into my pants first."

"I don't care how drunk I was, I would _never_ with my sister's pet drow, _or_ a demon!" Carver hisses, scrambling to his feet. _Sword, where's my weapon..._

"That's my brother," Nox hisses, rising to his feet as well. Across the room, another tiefling picks up a head high candlestick holder to test the balance, just in case. "You came onto me, then _Madame Zevy_ when he came over. I kissed you first, but not until you groped my ass."

Carver shakes his head, feeling his skull almost split in twain as he does. "No. No, this isn't happening. There was... something in the wine." _There, my clothes -- my sword._ He lunges for the weapon.

And then there's a naked tiefling wielding a glowing candle holder, in between him and his goal. "That is a very serious accusation, Mister Amell," he says softly. "If you want to file a charge, you don't do it with your sword."

_Amell. I'm Carver Amell. I'm not that stupid kid anymore._ Oddly enough, the tiefling's words help steady him, give him a moment of pause. He takes a couple deep breaths, chest heaving. "I'd prefer to do it with clothes on."

"Everyone not directly involved in this- out _now_ ," Andy orders. "If you step back, Mister Amell, I'll move your sword out of the way so you can get your clothes."

"And-"

"Guardsman za'Frane," the tiefling says over Nox's attempt to cut in. "Out of.. uniform or not, right now I'm on duty. Now please clear the room."

There's some hesitation but people do start leaving. Zevran tries to catch Isabela's eye, to signal her to get Varric. Isabela nods to him as she lowers the now-empty glass. She wants to finish her juice before she has to kill Hawke's brother.

"You're not stealing my weapon, Guardsman. It's peace-bonded and it's expensive." Carver tries to get the man to see reason, at least. _If he's on duty, why is he as drunk and naked as the rest of us? Fuck, I'm in a party full of off-duty guards, aren't I._

"Not stealing, just moving it to the side, against the wall. Right now, none of you should be armed, peacebonded or not," comes the firm reply. _Not that Zevran needs a weapon_ , he thinks, _but it's not like I can tie the man up right now._

Lux is sitting up by now as well, watching all this with hooded eyes. Zevran is tense, but trying to keep calm. _This... this will work out. It will be fine. Why did I think winning that old bet was important? Oh right, drunk and stupid._

"I'm leaving as soon as I've dressed. I know where to find the guard station once my damned head stops pounding." Carver scowls at the guardsman, the urge to flee making his headache feel worse.

"As soon as people are dressed," here Andy gives the other three pointed looks, causing them to start moving towards clothing as well, "I'll be escorting all of you to the guard station." Andy pauses, then says very plainly, "this is not a request or suggestion, this is a lawful command."

Carver blanches. "What?! Why? I've done nothing wrong!"

"And I'm not charging you. But this is a highly... charged situation, where some very serious accusations were made. As a claimant and accuser, you have to come down as well as the accused and... witnesses slash possible accessories," he recites. "Now please back up a few steps so I can secure your weapon. It will be returned to you."

Zevran jerks a little at the labeling but continues with dressing.

"I'm not going to the guard station hungover," Carver says, flatly, a bit of that old Coalside paranoia creeping up on him.

"Well, there's juice and tonic on the trays," Andy says carefully. "Otherwise you can either recant your accusation- which then leaves you open to a counter claim of slander- or tough it out."

_**Slander.** No way. I am not going down for slander._ Carver had started to open his mouth when he said 'recant', had looked like he might relent, but at the parenthetical his face hardens over. He turns away, looking for the tray to down some tonic.

~*~

Varric's office has a cot, and it's closer to Voice than his home by a considerable distance; therefore, he'd gone there to crash after the party, figuring he could toddle on home in the morning. He's awakened rudely by pounding hoofbeats on the cobblestones outside first thing in the morning. Someone was riding a horse toward him, and they were using that horse hard, meaning there was probably some kind of emergency.

The fact that the next sound was pounding on his front door was cause for serious alarm.

The Panacea potion is at his lips before his feet on are the ground. A moment later, and he's yanking the door open, Bianca in his other hand. Fell asleep in his pants and undershirt at least, so there's that going for him. Isabela's at his door, holding the reigns for a stolen horse; it's a rather nice stallion, someone's going to want that back probably. "Carver's making trouble," she says bluntly.

"For the love of-" He cuts himself, refocusing. "What kind of trouble? What do I need?"

"He's freaked that he got ploughed by Zevran last night," she reports. "He was yelling when I left, I'm sure it's worse by now."

"He got- no, can't care right now," he decides. "Right, let's get moving," he says as he shoves some boots.

Isabela mounts up, pulling Varric up behind her and urging the poor horse back toward the Voice.

~*~

Carver, Nox, Lux, Zevran, and Andy, all dressed and looking miserable, are just leaving the Voice when they arrive. Weirdly enough, Andy has Carver's sword slung on his back; doubly weird, he seems to be holding a candlestick. Lux and Nox move to flank Zevran, obscuring his cuffed hands, Nox slipping an arm around the half-drow to almost make it look like they're just out for a stroll. Zevran is still very tense and quiet, his gaze cast downwards.

Carver scowls as he sees Isabela bearing down on them. _Fucking perfect. More witnesses. Let's go._

Varric looks around warily as he approaches Rosalie to ask what the fuck is going on. Andy notices him and relaxes a little internally. _Good. I have to be impartial or this could just create even worse problems later but Varric can do whatever needs doing._

A few minutes later, they're all down at the station and Carver finds himself speaking to a dwarf wearing sergeant stripes. "Alright, so start from the beginning. From last night."

Carver crosses his arms. The tonic helped his headache.. some. He can think more, now, and despite himself, remembers more. "My sister got married. I was at her reception, hosted by Zevran here."

"Alright. That was at... Voice in the Night, correct?" the dwarf- Ironshin- confirms.

"Yes. My sister is a frequent customer there." He scowls. "She has some sort of relations with the owner."

Ironshin note something down from that, then nods. "Go on."

"You have to understand, I'm a traditional man," he picks up, his hand twitching. "I have never felt even the slightest hint of... queer feelings towards men. So imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning with not one but **three** men pawing at me."

"Alright," he says blandly. "But back to last night. How'd all this get started?"

"I was drinking the wine. I can hold my liquor -- I drink ale regularly." He scowls. "I approached what I thought was an attractive woman, propositioned her, and she accepted. We engaged in... kissing," his scowl deepens as he has to say it. "Her twin sister came and joined us, and I retired to a back room at the Voice with them. I noticed at that point that my judgement was impaired, but I never dreamed-- in any event, things get hazy around then. In order to convince me to perform sexual acts upon them, they must have slipped me drugged wine."

"Mmmhmmm," the dwarf says slowly, taking more notes. "Do you have any witnesses for this? Or will you allow us to test you for any drugs or enchantments still in your system?"

"I'll agree to be tested," he says, with a frown. "Given that all three of the men brought in with me are involved, I suspect that will be best."

_Men? Thought he..._ "Alright... I'll call in a cleric- do you have a preference or prohibition on faith?" he asks in a perfunctory tone.

He shakes his head. "As long as they're not friends with my sister or Zevran, they'll do." _That might be harder to find than you'd think._

"Alright. Who's your sister?" Ironshin asks pointedly.

"Marian Hawke. Uh, zi'Hawke I guess."

That gets an eye raise but he doesn't comment as he steps out. Five minutes or so later, he returns with a slightly imperious looking human female. "I am Her Own Cersai. Do I have your permission to cast detection magic upon you, in regards to determining what ills have been inflicted upon you?"

"Yes, please go ahead." Carver's leg jiggles nervously, but he doesn't complain. _Sirena? Whatever, let's just get this over with._

A few moments later and Cersai steps back. "A rather impressive amount of alcohol and some traces of smoke-weed," she announces. "And you are very notably free of disease, suggesting you've recently be subjected to a magical cleansing."

"There you have it, then," he points out. "I must have been cleansed while I was asleep, to hide the evidence."

"Disease," she repeats. "It didn't affect the toxins, nor would it impact enchantments. If I were to guess, you were a... guest of a rather high-class brothel. It's not uncommon for them to have a disease removal policy for people as part of a party package or other event."

He scowls. "Guest is one word for it," he snaps. "Look, whatever they did must just not have shown up. There's no way I wasn't... I don't do that sort of thing."

Cerai sniffs. "Of course you don't," she says dismissively as she turns for the door. "Whatever you did was the result of your own judgement along with some alcohol, nothing more." With that, she leaves the room.

Carver stares after her as she leaves, his face stricken, paling. "She's lying. This is a setup." He doesn't sound like there's much conviction in his voice, not anymore.

"You're lucky you waited to say that after she left, Mister Amell," Ironshin says bluntly. "Sirenites might not be as bad as Junonites about having their word questioned, but she's still have tried to flay you alive for it. Now. It appears that you were, in fact, not drugged. Do you still have any charges you wish to put forth or is that all?"

_But I was, I must have been!_ He scowls, his hand drifting toward the empty belt where his scabbard usually rests. "No. I'll have my sword back though."

"Of course. We'll have to finish processing this- dismissed or not, an accusation creates paperwork. Should only be a half- hour wait or so," he says professionally. "I'll have some bread and some strong tea sent in," he adds, giving Carver a commiserating look in regards to the hangover he's still showing signs of having.

~*~

A short distance away, and a few minutes ago, Zevran is returned to the waiting area where the others are gathered. Isabela immediately moves to sit next to him once he's seated, looking... strained, a little twitchy. "Are you alright?"

"...no," he says bluntly in Elven, not looking up.

"Can I-- should I-- " Isabela's hand twitches a bit, her fingers twitching closed briefly before opening. "Is this a hugging situation?" she tries to joke.

"If you can stand hugging a drow pet accused of rape," he says, any joking tone overtaken by the bitterness.

"If you can stand the hug of... .someone like me," Isabela concludes lamely, aware they're in public. Still, she drapes her arm around his shoulder. "I know you didn't drug him. He was clearly enjoying your little encounter. Some men just can't handle their own feelings."

"I know," he admits after a moment, leaning into her. "And you should not speak so poorly of yourself," he adds almost automatically, though no less insincerely for it.

She switches to Auran, speaking softly just in case: "At least you're innocent of the slander against you."

"Of the rape, yes, but the others? I am what my mother cursed me to be," he replies, his tone at odds with the breathy feel of the language of air elementals.

"Aren't we all? So what's that got to do with anything?" Isabela frowns.

"Don't be obstinate," he snaps, shoving his cuffed hands at her. "You know what I speak of."

"And you know what my mother cursed _me_ with. Get your headwind out of your hindparts, Zevran. If you can break the destiny laid out for me, I see no reason you should have to be bound by your own mother's folly." Isabela keeps her arm around Zevran, but her tone has become sharper.

Zevran pulls back at her retort. He looks offended for a moment, then sags before laughing softly, changing back to Elven. "You are very good for me, my beautiful truth," he says gently, lowering his hands. "I am brooding most terribly, no?"

Isabela sags a little in relief. "You're handsome when you brood," she jokes.

"I'm _Zevran_ ," he responds. "I will be handsome when I am just bones and dust. Ten thousand years from now, empresses and kings will fight over my bones to fashion... toys of unparalleled splendor." Zevran's humor is not as polished or, well, humorous as normal, but he's at least trying.

"You're normally splendid and wonderful and beautiful. Brooding brings out the handsome side," she jokes. "Though, when I grow up I hope to be half as beautiful as you when you are enraged."

Zevran presses a kiss to her shoulder. "I may be prettier, but you will always be my beautiful heart," he murmurs.

"Bah. I'm the heartless sea wench, remember?" Isabela chuckles.

He nods sagely. "But of course- your heart is mine, so you are without. But I promise to keep it safe and allow you to touch it whenever you wish," he offers grandly, hand resting on her leg with a wink.

They remain like that, consoling each other, for a few minutes longer before word comes that Carver's not going to press charges. Andy brings Carver back over to the waiting area, where the others are sat; he gives a slightly nervous glance to Zevran and a more nervous one to Varric. _Don't do this to me. Don't charge me with slander on top of... whatever it was you did to me last night,_ Amell silently pleads.

"So... Amell. You made some pretty bold lies a bit ago," Varric comments in a conversational tone. "Kind of thing that could ruin someone's life. The lives of their family too. And for someone with the career that-"

"If you drop this, make no mention of your- your lies to anyone, if this does not get out into the gossip circles, if this does not came back on my Hawke," Zevran cuts in, voice harsh, "I will not pursue this either." He looks Carver in the eyes, silently adding, _or simply slit your throat in your sleep and gift your body to the dark places under the city._

Carver's hands ball into fists. "You think I want this getting out? You think I even wanted this to happen? You must be out of your mind."

"Then it can rest and never be mentioned again," he replies firmly. "Which means we are all free to go, Officer?" Zevran adds, glancing at Andy, who nods crisply.

Varric looks a little annoyed, having planned on using this to break Amell and maybe get him the fuck out of Nyra, but just glares at Amell.

"Right." Carver shoots a glare at Zevran, then adds, sarcastically, "Have a nice day." And heads for the door.

~*~

Carver heads back to his hovel, to his dog. Having Hunter around helps, but not enough. Nothing can help enough. Finally, he leaves Hunter behind and heads to the pub, his sword at his hip once more.

Once there, he quickly spots Leon and Mark, two of the other trainers he'd been getting to know at his new job. He gives a wave, settling in with a pint and some company, and soon, the story comes out -- at least, a version of it. "I can't figure out how he did it, but that damned dark elf and his fucking demon friends are pulling some kind of con. And they'll get away with it, too. They have a Guiding Light wrapped around their finger."

Leon nods. "It's because guys like us, they don't get breaks. We humans are the whipping boys of the whole city. They treat us like we're a joke."

"Exactly!" Carver takes a pull of his ale, glancing at Mark to make sure he's in agreement.

"Lights are all the same," Mark says with a shake of his head. "Even the Speakers don't really care about the common folk. Well, unless there's enough of us, pissed enough," he adds cagley.

Carver snorts. "You're never going to change things. They have too much power, they're too hard to get at."

Leon smirks, jabbing a finger at Carver. "That's where you're wrong. They can't ignore us forever. Humans, we're adaptable, you know. They're so set in their ways, they can't ever see us coming. Did you know, back before the elves cooped us up in cities and dispersed us, human tribes used to run our prey to death? We never stopped coming, until the deer or whatever dropped from sheer exhaustion, and then we'd break their necks. That's the real advantage of being human: we're smart, sure, we're resourceful, we're scrappy, but above all else we never, ever stop coming."

Carver looks intrigued, his eyes shining at the idea of being good at something -- no, better at something than his sister.

"Well said Leon," Mark chimes in. "And we work together. Elves and a lot of those other 'long-lived' races might think themselves special, but they don't care. Not about each other, not about the city. Why should they, there's always more time to fix things later," he says with an eyeroll. "But humans? We look out for each other." He leans in towards Caver. "Let me ask you this- was there a single human other than you there? I bet there wasn't was there? A human would have stepped in to help you, keep you from being taken advantage of."

Carver frowns. "Isa-- no, wait, I take that back, she's got webbed feet. No, I'm pretty sure they were all Merikos, at the least." Bitterly, he adds, "including my sister."

"Your own sister," Mark says with a sigh. "You, my friend, need a... more understanding, more... loyal class of people to hang out with." He glances at Leon.

Leon nods, slipping a round medallion out of his shirt for a brief flash before he tucks it back in: a stylized H, a man with a hunting dog. "There's a group of us. Nothing sinister or anything, but, a lot of us don't have understanding family, and we look out for each other. If one of us had been with you, we would have had your back."

Carver nods, taking a pull of his ale to hide the emotion welling up in him. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it." he says, when he's done.

"You want in?"

Carver nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

~*~

The first time Helene had come by the Voice to speak with Zevran, it had been to look for Hawke. The second time, they were invited; Zevran had offered to answer Helene's questions about sex, which turned into an enlightening conversation about sexual mores and practices from different cultures. The second time, Helene had asked Zevran about being an assassin; far from wanting personal intel, they seemed to focus on the hows and whys of people selecting targets to be killed, digging deep into people's motivations rather than the methods of killing.

The third time Helene visits, they seem less eager than before. No less prepared; they have their sketchbook, full of questions. But that little bounce in their step, that nervous anticipation, is gone. They seem tired, honestly. "Afternoon greetings, Madame Zevran." They offer with a bow.

"Seeker Helene," he replies with a bow of his own. He's started using the more specific title since he noticed how deeply... Alydran the oracle is. "We had a lovely roast duck and Jerry makes a mouth-watering breakfast mash- potatoes, leftover meat and some eggs, all fried light brown- if you'd like to join me for breakfast?" Best to get them settled in before prying.

"This one finds your offer acceptable." Helene had been on more informal terms the last time Zevran and they had spoken; they would have phrased it like 'I accept', perhaps. This backing off seems unusual as well. Still, they follow him readily, settling in and eating some of the mash politely, holding off on the questioning.

Zevran humors them for a while, allowing them to eat a bit. "I hope I haven't offended," he remarks.

"Offended? Why would you assume such?" They blink at him, owlishly.

"You seem less interested and... hmmm... personable than the last visit," he explains. "You could just be preoccupied or the like, but you could also have been offended by something I did."

"No offense was taken by this one." They give a wan smile. "This one has had a... trying week." After a moment's hesitation, they ask, "May this one begin the questioning?"

"You may- or if you wish, you can vent a little first. Or after," Zevran offers with a smile.

Helene nods, opening the sketchbook. And turning to a new page. "This one would like to know if the honored Madame Zevran has ever been in love."

"Twi- Thrice," he replies after a moment, smiling faintly. "Well, three times since I was a child, as I did love my father as well." And unlike Hawke, he does differentiate, even if he's sometimes not sure why. She's very convincing.

Helene nods, noting this down. "Describe the moment you realized you were in love."

Zevran is smiling, just a little, as he looks at her. "Hmmm. Well, it was different each time, you see. With my flower, it was... done before I ever noticed. There was no singular moment when I realized- aha! I love her! I just... did. My hawk was, of course, more dramatic than that. I was already coming to realize I cared for her far more than I had thought I was capable of caring for someone, but was... resisting it for my own reasons. I... I was hurting. Deeply. Hating myself and she was there for me. I realized... I realized that her love for me was greater than any darkness that I feel for myself. That, with her, I can be... better. She showed me that I could love and be loved without chains. If not for her, I would not have realized the love I had for the others."

He takes a deep breath, then a sip of cider, collecting himself. "That last was more like the with my flower. I had cared for my beauty for a very long time. Meeting her had given me something precious, something that was mine alone, and that keep me... intact while I suffered. When I met her again, I simply... enjoyed our relationship- and her body- without giving it much thought. It was not until recently that I really, truly realized what she means to me."

Helene nods. "Did a relationship form in each of these cases? And if so, was it before or after the diagnosis of love?"

"Before, with each. I was very blessed in this- not everyone has a relationship, much less a deep and satisfying one, with those he loves. And to have three such? Well, I suppose it might be said I was due such grace, but... still I am thankful for it," Zevran replies.

"Was there a point in any of these relationships where the... tone of the relationship changed? Where the feelings you felt or the feelings the other person felt toward you shifted?" Helene studies Zevran intently.

"Of course- I just described how my feelings shifted, deepened," he reminds them. "Or did you mean something else?"

"Perhaps a time when the intensity lessened, or one partner pulled back?"

Zevran winces. "Not with my flower, but with the other two, yes. My beauty... she ebbs and flows like the ocean she springs from. And... due to some... over-protective stupidity on my part, my hawk was rather vexed with me for a time."

"What was the outcome of such periods?" Helene asks quietly.

"Pain, for a time. Sorrow, for a time. But with patience and love, with honesty and trust and respect and all sorts of such things... understanding, growth and happiness," he replies gently. "It might be easier to simply explain your current... woes. I could give better advice then."

Helene blanches a pale, sky-blue, but doesn't deny the accuracy of his intuition. "This one has been... I have noticed... a distance between myself and Sherran. I am not certain I am not imagining it. I am... not very well practiced with relationships."

"It can be difficult even for one that is well practiced and knowledgeable to spot trouble if the other involved does not wish you to notice. I am lucky that we have made honesty, openness and trust the cornerstones of our relationship," he explains. "What have you seen or felt that makes you worry?"

Helene looks down, flipping a few pages back in their sketchbook -- though, in truth, this is mostly for show, and a way to justify fidgeting with their hands. "When the relationship began, there was... This one found their time highly sought after by their partner. The partner attempted to draw this one forth, sought this one's thoughts and feelings. Now, there is... less of that. This one's partner seems reluctant to speak to this one, and seems eager to make plans elsewhere."

Zevran nods slowly. "That is common for fresh relationships, that flurry of... activity and attention. But it sounds like it is... dimming more than that. Tell me, before, did you search her out or was it always her seeking you?"

"In the past, this one was... unaware of the depths of this one's feelings. This one's partner was... reclusive. This entire way of relating to each other is therefore new on both sides."

He nods. "But after it changed, how much effort to you make to... initiate things? If it was all her work, then that can lead to... feelings of resentment."

Helene's cheeks darken. "In truth, this one has been called... invasive, at times. This one has been doing this one's best to modulate the... the level of intensity. There have been missteps."

"...I suppose I could see that," the Madame allows with a faint smile. "Alright. Did Sharran''s pulling back occur after one such misstep?"

Helene shakes their head. "She went on a small trip, and when she returned, she was.... changed."

_Ah._ "Do you know what occurred on this trip? Where she went, what she did, who she was with?"

Helene shakes their head. "This was an adventuring trip. I know that she was with several other adventurers, but I had not met them."

"Any idea what they were doing? And how long was it?" he asks slowly.

"It was a.. I believe their aim was to discover a hidden cache of wealth, but they were unsuccessful. The treasure had been claimed previously."

_Hmmm._ "Other than pulling away, has she changed her behavior? New hobbies, new friends, change in diet, anything?"

Helene frowns. "I believe there are... new contacts. The diet seems to be the same, though I was asked to stop tracking the partner's food intake closely, so there may be changes."

"Tracking her... right. How about changes in dress? Canceled dates or meeting with poor or vague excuses?"

"No and yes," Helene reports, factually. "Attire is unchanged, cancellation has been known to occur."

"Any... strangeness in regards to her speech or body language? Strange wounds or new abilities?" It's only been a Moe Problem a few times in all the hundreds of this kinds of talks he's had but... it's worth asking.

"No new wounds or abilities," says Helene slowly. "That I have witnessed, as... I have not seen the partner unclothed since. The speech is... " Helene frowns, turning over the evidence in their mind. "The speech is normal. But there have been fewer... of a certain class of remark of late. I had hoped that it was a positive improvement. The partner's speech tends to be... harsh toward the partner's own self. This has stopped happening of late."

_Oh, that's... not promising. Cutting of sex, improved self-esteem, loss of interest..._ "It... sounds like... Do you know if she's still in contact with any of the adventurers she went on that exploration with?" he asks gently. "Has she expressed any... guilt or... shame about her behavior?"

"Contact with other adventurers is unknown." Helene stares at him for a moment, thinking. "Query: how does one act when one is feeling guilt or shame but does not desire to speak of the matter?"

"Well, that can be different for different people," he says slowly. "Avoiding eye contact while talking, evading or lying about things but with- can you recognize expressions of guilt or shame on her face?"

Helene hesitates, looking... actually quite uncomfortable. "This one is... not well versed in facial expressions," they begin slowly. "This one has made a study of such, but this one often seems to... miss things. Or misinterpret them. This one also prefers to avoid eye contact." Thinking back, Helene does stare a lot... but usually as though they are scrutinizing Zevran's face, rather than meeting his eyes.

_Hrrrm._ "Well... does she ever... have bursts of attention or even gifts after brushing you off or evading you?" he asks slowly.

Helene thinks back. "After one argument became heated, she... vanished, for a day or two. When she returned, she brought ribbons for this one's hair. This one understands that such adornments may be an attempt at courtship, but this one does not typically wear ribbons." Another pause. "This one has noticed this one's partner seemed to be having... trouble..." A longer pause. "With this one's form of address," Helene whispers. "The aforementioned argument seems to have repaired that difficulty but.."

A pause. "When did that happen? Exactly? And has there been any other... omissions or... misconceptions? Where she forgot something important or even minor things but those that should be recalled by her? Since her adventure," he clarifies. Moe had known a lot about Merrill's life but had lacked details.

Helene nods. "This one has noticed this one's partner becoming forgetful of late."

"Any... theme or pattern to the forgetfulness?" he asks, leaning forward a little.

Helene frowns. "This one seems to be the theme. This one's partner has... forgotten this one's preferences. This one fears that... this one has ceased to be important to this one's partner." They fidget a little, twisting their hands together. "I... do not like this feeling."

"Does..." He hesitates a moment. "What is her reaction when you correct her?"

Helene continues to frown. "She does not... appreciate the correction. This one has ceased correcting her."

"Was she... anger at you? Or just... upset at being wrong? Did she say why she's forgotten- or rather, if it's become a constant thing, choosing to use the wrong pronouns?" He's forgotten a time or two, sure, particularly at first, but he make sure to apologize if they point it out. Not doing so for one's significant other seems... suspect to say the least. Almost as if... hmmm.

"This one... This one suspects..." Helene hesitates once more, looking over Zevran carefully. Finally, they extend a hand, pinkie-finger first. "This one must extract a promise of secrecy from the Honored Madame."

Looking a little amused but trying to hide it, Zevran somberly extends his pinkie as well. "I will keep this secret unless a person's life is directly in danger because of it and will even then attempt to keep the information as restricted as possible."

Helene nods, wrapping their pinkie finger around Zevran's to seal the promise. "This one's partner has atypical genitalia for her species and gender. This one assumed many of the changes came about due to a change in her self perception. Self-loathing related to her genitalia would account for the terms of address and the disinterest."

"...atypical as in... ah, she has... bits similar but less magnificent than my own," he realizes, then quickly offers a smile. "Though I am sure hers are very nice. I gather she has... struggled with self-identify issues in the past? And you think she has begun projecting those issues on you and perhaps on your relationship? Has she started using male references to herself?"

Helene looks slightly away from Zevran. "She did, for a brief time. But it passed quickly. My term of address was more contentious."

"How... how did she react? I mean... what triggered or occurred right before her lapse in using female terms for herself? And how did she react with you brought it up?" It's sounding like it's not infidelity after all... which is... good? Perhaps?

"The lapse was shortly after the return. I had suspected that she was... given some trouble during her trip. I spoke to her about it as gently as I was able, and she reacted slightly poorly. But she did not make the same remarks again. When she referred to this one as her..." Helene looks bashful, for a moment. "'girlfriend', this one was... taken aback, but decided to accept the term in the spirit it was intended. After a few more such terms, however, this one asked if this one's partner could refer to this one as a partner instead, and this one's partner seemed taken aback that the gendered term was not preferred. This one's partner later referred to this one as 'miss', and when corrected to Bright, this one's partner seemed agitated. The distance truly began with that misunderstanding."

"Has... has there been any other... points of contention? Have you directly addressed the issue of her pulling away?" he asks gently, reaching over to gently hold their hand.

"This one has not addressed the issue. This one was hoping to understand the issue in greater detail first." Helene looks at the hand as Zevran takes it, but does not pull away. "This one suspects... this one's relationship is not healthy."

"There does appear to be some significant issues forming," Zevran admits softly, giving their hand a gentle squeeze. He pauses then, slightly lifting his hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have presumed. Is such a gesture alright with you?"

Helene looks at the hands again. "This gesture is... meant to be comforting?" They ask, softly. "This one is rarely in a position to... receive such a gesture."

"It is. It's... a physical way of expressing that you're not alone, that someone is there for you," he explains gently.

_Not alone..._ A small smile flickers into existence on Helene's face. "This one-- I appreciate the sentiment." Their voice is soft, almost tender. It's odd seeing such signs of emotion from the usually purely academic child.

Zevran gives their hand another squeeze. "Do you think perhaps you could convince Sharran to visit? Either here or at your home, but someone I can talk to her? It might help, to have a third party... attempt to help you both work through your issues."

"If you feel it would help, this one will try." Helene nods.

"I don't know it will, but it can. It often does," he replies. "And... letting things go on as they are _won't_ help. Ignoring it never works, I promise."

Helene nods. "Thank you for your assistance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been rereading Magus lately. A fun game: keep an eye out for any time Varric says "fuck". He almost never does. Kae's great with that.


	10. "This one is not a girl!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran agrees to help Helene with discovering what's wrong with their girlfriend. Contains very queer situations.

Sherran agrees to meet only after much effort on Helene's part, and then, only for dinner at a seedy pub in Coalside. When they arrive, she greets Zevran politely enough, but seems... distracted as they eat, like she's trying to watch her back from every direction at once.

"Sharran, good to see you again," Zevran says as he takes a seat next to Helene. "I hoped you've been able to avoid any more sewers." _Alright, let's see how well I can pull this off. There's three types of sceleratii, so that means three tests, three things each of them can't abide without a reaction._

The elf nods. "I have," she says, glancing off at the dartboard as a dart hits it.

Helene gives a small smile. "The danger from this establishment is insufficient to overwhelm the strength of our guest."

Sharran frowns. "Right..."

"How have you been?" Zevran follows up.

"I have been well. Somewhat busy." Sherran twitches as someone behind them scoots their chair out unusually loudly.

"Are you alright? You seem... distracted," he asks carefully.

Sherran blinks. "I'm fine."

Helene frowns, watching their partner carefully.

"As you say... you just seem jumpier than a friend of mine was after her resurrection," he comments. _A bit clumsy, but it's not exactly the easiest thing to work into a conversation; still, any daemon will react poorly to it. Not sure how to do the contract thing Aveline explained about devils, but salt..._ He fingers the tiny pouch of it in his pocket absently. _Hopefully we get a charmable waitress that's willing to help me play a prank on my... 'sister'._

"Your friend was resurrected?" Sharran's attention snaps back to Zevran, blinking in surprise.

"Mmmh, a few years ago," he comments. "Not a happy exactly, but a very welcome one- to have a loved one returned."

Sharran makes an odd face -- almost unhappy. But her words are smooth enough: "How fortunate. Not many are so blessed as to return from the beyond, after all."

"Quite so, Miss Sharran. Being an adventurer is a very risky life- Helene mentioned you do some exploring yourself," he adds. _She didn't entirely seem to approve but... Aveline had seemed to imply it would be a very noticeable reaction. So not a daemon. One down. Two to go._

"Yes, I do. I recently got back from an adventure into the underdark which proved sadly fruitless." Sharran seems to be on more familiar territory now, a little more relaxed.

"The underdark! Well, that's not sewers," he admits. "So 'twasn't a lie earlier, I suppose. Still, that's quite a risky jaunt," he comments as the.. .young female server approaches. _Promising_ , he thinks, readying himself to flirt and charm.

The conversation pauses there, as they order their food and drinks. Sharran goes for the special, seeming uninterested in the menu as a whole, while Helene orders a salad. Zevran makes a point of charming the server, going so far as to rise and assist when she comes back with their drinks. As she goes to leave, he takes her hand, kisses it, then leans in to murmur something. She blushes, then looks a little startled, but smirks and winks before walking away with a bit of sway in her hips.

_I'll have to apologize to Helene for referring to them as my sister but it's for a good cause- the 'prank' on our sister Sharran is a go._ He retakes his seat with a pleased gin. "So... where were we? Oh, Helene had mentioned to me that you had to cancel last Aquaday on the poetry reading. Shame, Tennalson isn't my favorite but he's still very good."

Zevran makes a point of charming the server, going so far as to rise and assist when she comes back with their drinks. As she goes to leave, he takes her hand, kisses it, then leans in to murmur something. She blushes, then looks a little startled, but smirks and winks before walking away with a bit of sway in her hips.

Sharran looks... faintly green. Why is that? Still, she answers gamely enough: "Yes, I had other plans."

He makes a small noise of dismay. "Oh? What kinds of plans? New project?"

"Of a sort. Unfortunately, I can't talk about it." She glances to Helene, as if daring them to say something instead. Helene merely blinks, jotting something down in their sketchbook.

"Of course, I imagine most of your work as one of Alydra's oracles is, if not secret, then private," he allows. "Still, one must be careful not to focus so much on work that they allow their personal affairs to sicken."

"My calling comes above all else, I'm afraid," she says, looking Zevran dead in the eyes.

"As you wish... but still, surely it does not take all your time?" he asks, an easy smile on his lips.

"More and more of it. Still, it is work worth doing. I find myself caring less and less for the trivialities that use to take up my time." She smiles sweetly, but Helene looks like they've been slapped.

"That... is unfortunate, Seeker," he comments after a moment. "I hadn't realized your goddess was so.. strict on her worshippers." _Aveline hadn't mentioned this specifically, but devils and such probably won't like to be, ah, accused of working for deities, no?_

Helene looks down at their lap, whispering, "They aren't. Alydra would understand..."

Sharran barely seems to notice. "I find that the work is the most fulfilling portion of my life. My passion consumes me."

"Hmmmm," Zevran observes. "Anyway, you were saying something about your last adventure, before the server arrived?" he prompts Sharran.

"Was I?" Sharran says, absently, looking around the room once more.

"Mmmn," he replies. "Something about where it was? You'd just started to speak."

"Ah, yes. We went to the underdark."

"Right, you'd said that but were interrupted before you could continue," he explains.

"It was unfortunate, we did not achieve the aim of our quest. All that walking for nothing," she sighs.

"What was the aim?" Zevran asks curiously.

"We were after a prized arcane scrying tool -- a mirror, one that would allow us to see anywhere within a hundred miles. It would have been a crucial tool for interpreting our visions."

"I see. Yes, that does sound like it would be rather beneficial to your work," he admits. Zevran starts to say something else, then pauses. "Ah, our meals."

Moments later, their food is arrayed before them, a salad, a meatloaf and a stew for Sharran. After giving out the food and asking if they need anything, the waitress goes to leave, though not before giving Zevran a wink.

Sharran lifts her spoon, digging into the soup to avoid having to answer Zevran. She lifts a spoonful, blowing on it gently.

"Do you know about this mirror Helene? It sounds rather facinating," Zevran comments, careful to continue to watch Sharran. He's not entirely sure what 'can't eat or breathe in cooked salt' means, exactly. And is slightly worried that the stew might be hot enough to neutralize it. It shouldn't be, he thinks, but it's not like he knows what he's doing really. He's just got a few tips from experts.

Sharran puts the spoonful in her mouth. Her eyes widen, and she coughs, spitting the soup out as she doubles over, hacking horribly.

Banking on Helene being highly educated and alert, Zevran barks out in Auran, "Demon taken! Subdue!" even as he shoves the table into Moe-rran hard enough to crack ribs.

Helene shrieks, scootching their chair back. Right -- not really a combat type, not with the perpetual body of a child. Sharran, on the other hand, keeps her head well enough to draw twin daggers, pushing backward to get away from his range as she does. She hisses something in a language that sounds dark and foul, her eyes flashing bright red for a moment with anger. Oh yeah. Demon-taken.

Zevran, naturally, moves to keep in touch range. Oracles are like shamans. Merrill has some powerful spells and Bob is a terror but if he can stay close, keep her from casting... "Helene, hinder or stop it from casting! She's been taken," he calls again, hoping for some help.

Helene does about the only thing they can think to do on short notice: pronounces a dire fate in Celestial.

_"Short of limb, short of height_  
overlooked by all,  
be thou cursed with mine own blight,  
and let the mighty fall" 

Not the best poem, but it serves: Sharran gives a cry of rage as she shrinks to half her height, becoming -- for the moment -- a mere child. With the reduction in size and thus combat ability, Zevran continues to press his attack. Amusingly, this is not the first time he has disabled someone with a napkin and a plate. The hardest part is holding back just enough to not actually injury Sharran. With her reduced physical capability, the winning move seems to be putting enough pressure on her windpipe that she passes out -- though, Zevran takes several nasty hits while she struggles. Thankfully, she's not as strong as she was a moment ago. Doubly thankfully, as Sharran goes limp beneath him, Zevran hears a small voice chirp up at his side:

"Please, may this one confer healing? It will require brief physical contact."

"Let me... bind, gag and blindfold her before you heal her," he says, wincing a little as he double checks that Sharran isn't faking.

A brief pause. "This one witnessed the Honored Madam receiving injury in service to this one. This one requests to heal the Honored Madam."

"Oh. Me. Yes please," he says with roll of his arm. "Thank you Helene. And please, Zevran is fine."

Helene gently places two fingers on Zevran's arm, whispering to themself briefly as he feels cool, healing energy wash over him like a refreshing spring. He sighs as a trio of guards burst into the tavern. "Well, this is looks fucking swell," he mutters, realizing that he appears to be pinning a child to the ground. "How long until she reverts?" he adds quickly, carefully holding his hands up. Peaceful drow here, nothing to be jumpy about. Nice guards, no beatings please, I don't want to have to tell Aveline I broke three of her guards.

"A few minutes, only." Helene reassures him. They straighten, moving toward the guards to offer a bow. "May this one be of assistance?"

"Miss, we need you to stand aside," one of the guards says, reaching out to pull the 'young girl' out of danger. The other two go to bypass her, one of them demanding, "sir, back away from the child! Move now! On the ground!"

Zevran keeps his hands up but doesn't move. "She's not a child, she's polymorphed," he says calmly. "And de-"

"On the ground!"

"Let this one assure you, guardspeople, that the apparent child is, like myself, fully grown. There was an unfortunate incident involving a demon," they continue, raising themself to every inch of their height and using their best 'grown-up' lecture voice. With the glasses, it helps, a bit. They at least seem like an older child, anyway.

All three of them end up bound with cuffs made of cast iron and silver braids, as well as blindfolded and gagged but Zevran is happy enough that Sharran is made safe. After what feels like days but in truth is only about an hour, the guard prove that Zevran and Helene are adults, not possessed and innocent of any legal infraction. It takes Helene another hour to get custody of Sharran transferred to the Aldyrean church, or more specifically, a semi-retired sceleratii hunter, Seeker Lelldorin. Of course, this still leaves the matter of 'what next' to deal with...

Zevran had, naturally, sent for Hawke, Merrill and, because he was supposed to have met her a half hour ago, Isabella, as soon as he could. So it is those four, plus Helene and this Lelldorin person that gather in a small room in the Seeker's church. Sharran is currently asleep in the next room, being guarded by Bob and some kind of oversized lion-dog beast that the poor elven oracle would have likely been delighted to have met. For whatver reason, this being's name appears to be 'Dog'.

Seeker Lelldorin looks faintly tired. He's an older man, with snow white hair with only a faint hint of grey still in it that he keeps tied back in a short ponytail. A well lined face, mostly with age and laugh lines, but a scar or two as well. He limps, noticeably, due to an injury to his right knee and his right hand is red and slightly shiny from a long ago burn that also claimed the tip of his pinky. Strange, for a holy man to have scars and injuries remain, but made much less so when one recalls his profession. After all, wounds caused by sceleratii are damnably hard to heal.

"So... thoughts?" Zevran asks tiredly, Merrill worriedly attached to his side. The half-drow had made it a point to take a seat next to Helene and to take their hand for what is likely to be a very difficult conversation.

Helene holds Zevran's hand. They had done their best throughout the painfully long process with the guards, collecting themself and holding their head upright the whole time. Once freedom had been won, however, they had ceased to speak up at all. Their face had... changed. They seemed more childlike, truly childlike for the first time since Zevran had met them. There was a childlike vulnerability, a raw ache, written across their face. Their eyes seemed sunken without the usual brightness of curiosity in them, and they refused to make eye contact with anyone. They hadn't even touched the hot drink Lelldorin had offered -- though they had managed a wan, slight smile, more out of politeness than any real warmth. Lelldorin was one of the people who they had gone to in the past with information, after all. He had proven himself to be a useful contact, and they... they didn't want to burn any bridges just because... just because Sharran...

Hawke, on the other hand, paced back and forth, agitation showing in the swirl of frost that trails behind her like an after-image. She clings to her staff tightly, desperate to hit something but given no target. Not yet. There are _demons_ in _Nyra_. She can't get past that, can't get the sick fear out of her gut or the pernicious anger out of her brain. Someone she knew was taken by _demons_ and they were likely _hurting_ people! This could not, would never, stand. "We get the demon out." Her reply to Zevran's question is flat, tightly controlled anger quivering behind her tone.

"I... I know the casting out ritual, and it is likely still worth attempting but I am doubtful it will work in this case," Seeker Lelldorin says after a moment. "This is a very abnormal possession, the likes of which I've only encountered twice before in my sixty years of hunting. The demon is not possessing her body. It is possessing her mind. Not her soul, though the distinction is very near, so I can at least give the small comfort that she is still destined for Alydra's grace."

Zevran scowls deeply, gripping Helene's hand a little tighter, holding the trembling Merrill a little closer. He'd not have really wanted to make her face such as this, but she had begged for it months ago. That if there was a chance she could help someone fight their own Moe, then they would let her so she can face her mistake and redeem herself in her own eyes, at least a little.

"Her mind? That's the trouble?" Hawke wastes no time, her eyes keen and piercing. "I may know another ritual that can help. We'll need to talk to Summerhill..."

"Summerhill? The Doctor's medical hospice? I wasn't aware they dealt with possessions from an outside influence?" Lelldorin asks, sounding surprised and curious, not dismissive.

"They don't, usually, but I'm good friends with some of their staff, and anything dealing with the mind or soul they're willing to take a look at. There's a ritual they developed for handling extremely afflicted minds, which I think may be useful to banish the demon." Hawke's tone is clipped, her expression tightly controlled .

Lelldorin considers that a moment. "How does that ritual work? Not the details of the mechanics, but the process," he asks slowly, needing more information.

"We enter their dreamscape and try to kill the bad part of their mind before it can kick us out. It works best if you can find the person's... Ed and snap them out of their delusion or obsession enough to get them to help," Zervan says crisply.

"Their Ed? Ah, you mean Id, I suspect. That..." The Seeker falls silent, clearly considering the prospect.

"I've done it before. It's not very dangerous to the participants. If they say it will help, I'm willing to try." Hawke continues pacing, clinging to her staff.

"It... could work," he finally allows. "If the ritual for casting out the possession is done right after or, preferably, during either the destruction or binding of the demon within her mind or dreamscape..." Lelldorin sighs. "This is entirely conjecture. Educated, experienced conjecture but nevertheless, I cannot promise it will work. Or that is will... demonic possession often leaves... ruination of the body, if the possession is not dealt with rapidly. I am concerned what that might translate to in this case. Degradation of her faculties or memory loss are the most likely, though I'm at a loss as to how to guess the severity. Both of the other occurrences where the possession was mental, the victim died, once in combat, the other after the standard casting out rite left the body empty entirely. Still, this is more hope than I would have expected."

Helene chokes back a sob, doubling over their stomach. One arm curls around their gut protectively, while the other hand clenches Zevran's hand as tightly as they can manage. No tears fall; there's only a painful, muffled whimper as they rock back and forth, trying to self-soothe.

Hawke turns to address the sound at once, jumping into a defensive stance. When she sees Helene, however, her face falls, and she looks back to Lelldorin. "I have to try," she whispers.

"You are not alone, my friend," Zevran whispers gently as he shifts to comfort the diminuative Bright. He doesn't pull his hand away, instead moving so he can wrap his other arm around them. "We will help her." Merrill makes a soft, sad sound, and gently pats at Helene's back.

"Of course," Lelldorin says softly to Hawke, watching as Zevran tries to comfort the youth. _No, despite their appearance, they are older than you, old man. Strange, how the mind clings to perception, particularly with such a strong instinct as being protective of the young._ "Contact Summerhill, I will gather what I need for the casting out ritual."

~*~

Hawke was immediately uncomfortable upon beginning the Delve. This was only in part due to the heat; the imaginary landscape was tropical, hot and moist, as they push their way through a swamp. This swamp, however, was... not okay, to Hawke. The ground squished beneath their feet, soft and warm, fleshy pink, oozing with what Hawke is trying to remind herself at every step isn't literally blood. The trees were stunted, twisted growths made of white bone and black, razor-sharp obsidian. The air smelled faintly of copper and sulphur. _How long has this demon had its claws in her?_

Helene won't let go of Zevran's hand. They haven't, not since he took it. Not once, even when it was uncomfortable. In life, Helene's hand was still gripping Zevran's tightly, and they had taken his hand as soon as they had materialized beside him. They looked a little odd without the omnipresent sketchbook in hand, without the satchel they kept their notes in, but they kept pace, a grim look of determination on their face.

Or... her face.

Helene's clothing has changed; instead of the strange collection of different-gendered attire that they usually wear, Helene wears a lacy tea-length gown, complete with cutesy little-girl shoes and a bow in her hair. Hawke, in the lead, is broader of shoulder to Zevran's practiced eye, his short hair clipped even shorter, his hands larger on the staff. And Merrill, though mostly unchanged, still bears the slight hallmarks that mark him to be a male elf, delicate but masculine. To Zevran's eyes, he appears the same as always, but judging by the look on Helene's face, he's changed as well.

"Should I presume that everyone is seeing everyone else in a slightly altered form?" Zevran asks brightly, giving Helene's hand another squeeze. Dropping his voice, he informs Helene in Auran. "You have been... made to fit a more feminine appearance, Brightness. If it helps, the bow looks nice, even if the dress does not suit you."

"Bow." Helene's tone is strangely comforting -- it sounds a lot like Hawke's usual incredulous tone. "There is. A bow? In my hair." They don't bother replying in Auran, and they hold very still, showing no emotion on their face, their muscles frozen in place.

Zevran coughs. "Yes... it's pink and yellow," she adds, gesturing to where it would be on them.

Merrill bounds up to Hawke, reaching up to prod his chest. "Oooh, you're very handsome."

"I am not amused," Bob announces, 'her' voice still a deep basso. She has... ribbons in her hair. And a bow on her tail. "Where is the oversized lion pretending to be a dog?"

Hawke smiles. "So are you," he says, pressing a kiss to Merrill's lips. "But your friend has a good point. Where is that dog?"

Merrill glances around, frowning slightly. "Well, I wouldn't think he's be hard to spot," she muses. "Perhaps he wasn't able to make it into the dreamscape?"

"A bow and a dress." Helene's tone is identical to the previous statement. They haven't moved so much as their gaze, still staring up at Zevran.

Hawke frowns. "That's a shame, but I guess we've never tried an actual animal before... Bob obviously being special."

"I can talk and express myself. I am no more an animal than you are, Lady _Hawke_ ," Bob says frostily.

"That's what I mean," says Hawke. "You're not an animal, so we've never brought an animal before."

Zevran kneels, looking Helene in the eyes. "What you were, what you look like- none of that changes who you are inside, Seeker Helene. You are an oracle of Alydra, a gather of knowledge, a reserved and steady soul- and a good friend of great loyalty," she says softly. "You are you, neither male nor female, and there is nothing wrong with that." She smiles faintly.

"I appear female." says Helene, quietly. "Sharran sees me as female? Or-- as male? Because... because everyone..." They begin shaking a little, still crushing Zevran's hand tightly as they search her face.

"Mayhap," she says gently. "But I think it just as plausible that this is due to the influence of the demon, much as the tainting of the swap is."

Helene shakes their head, taking a step back -- the first motion since they became aware of the gender effect. "This one... this one is.... This one is.... This one is not a girl!" They don't seem to realize they're shouting until the echoes of it come back to them, haunting them, echoing through the trees. But by then it doesn't matter. They are dressed in their normal clothes, or something like it: an ankle-length skirt, a waistcoat, a suitcoat, a tophat.

Zevran stares a moment, then reaches over to gently tilt the tophat to the side just a little. "Perfect my friend," he murmurs.

Helene blushes slightly, but plays it off into a bow.

~*~

The trip through the swamp is a slog. There are a few enemies here and there -- every one a minor type of demon -- but the place seems rather sparse, empty, for a time being. After what feels like a long while, they come to a frozen lake, with a tight cluster of bone spikes around the outside, clearly intending to force them across.

The wind picks up as they cross, hot and searing, chapping their skin as though it was cold. In it, they can hear voices: "I just can't. I'm not.. attracted to you anymore." "Oh god, what the fuck?! Gross!" "It's just not natural. I'm sorry."

Hawke grimaces. "Cheery."

"I suspect that would be the demon, praying on Sharran's own insecurity about her gender," Zevran murmurs to Helene in Auran. He's hand to free his hands, just in case they have to fight, but is constantly by their side during this walk.

Helene nods. They don't do anything so obvious as hold back a shudder -- but they walk stiffly ahead, eyes fixed on the horizon.

On the other side of the pond, the voices die down -- though, only after they fight another demon. Of course. The good news is, they have a destination at last: a small shack on a hill on the horizon. They're running a bit ragged by the time they get there, but Helene dispenses healing when they can, and they manage to keep their spirits up.

Hawke pulls open the door to the shack, and they traipse inside -- and find themselves, insubstantial, inside a countryside estate. This place isn't the most opulent place Zevran has ever been, but it does remind him rather of the place he first met Isabela. They are standing in a front hall, listening to voices from the parlor:

"Darling, where are you going?" A woman's voice, in tears.

"Out. Away. I don't know, Sue, I just can't stand it anymore. I need to be away for a time."

Footsteps moving toward them; they can see no-one, but the door pulls open, slams shut. The weeping grows louder, as though the crier has moved to the doorway, still invisible. Finally, a set of small footsteps are heard rushing off to the right, into a side room.

Following the smaller footsteps, they are led to a side door, out into a garden. Through the garden, to a fenced area in the large yard: a kennel, clearly, as there are a number of dogs playing inside the fence. And-- oh, that's where Dog went, clearly. The canines who belong here are hunting dogs, half his size. Seeing the group coming, Dog rises up and lets out a soft welcoming bark.

"Dogs..." Zevran murmurs thoughtfully. "Perhaps more than a simple fondness?"

Hawke moves to let Dog out of the pen, greeting him with a vigorous pat. "Where do you think she went?" he asks, fondling Dog's ears.

Helene points toward the indoor area of the kennel, where the door is open -- swaying gently, as if it was just opened.

"Fair enough," the hero replies.

As they head for the door, slowly, as if coming into focus, the child appears. They seem to be around Helene's age: a little boy with Sharran's face, dressed in trousers and a sweater and a schoolboy's cap, looking nervously at the intruders with his hands behind his back. Helene makes a small, strangled noise, and rushes towards him, opening their arms for a hug as they get close.

The gate swings shut behind them. The sky darkens, as though a storm was brewing. In a burst of lightning: horns, batlike wings, a sinuous tail, ripped muscles, wearing nothing but a codpiece, with heavy, cloven hooves. Oh. Oh dear.

As Helene tries to comfort Sherran, snapping him -- her -- out of this line of thinking so they can cast off the demon, Hawke, Merrill, Dog, and Zevran get to fighting it. The thing has a fondness for grapple attacks -- and worse, it drains their energy with a touch.

Bob has the most luck, after Dog, with the creature. While it can fly as well, the tiny chuspiki is maddeningly agile- and also right pissed at being bedecked with ribbons and bows. Dog's celestial nature makes her resistant to the demon's dominations and her size and strength make it leery of attempting to grapple the massive canine. Zevran however, is at a marked disadvantage. All of her fighting styles are close range and she lacks Hawke's specialized mental training.

Mind you, the succubus's expression when its first Suggestion to 'get rid of those nasty daggers before someone gets hurt!' results in Zevran simply attacking it with a bucket was highly memorable.

Thankfully Merrill is able to ward him with Protection from Evil before it can make another try. Instead, the party has a very bad moment when it uses Dominate Person on Hawke, but it fucked up when it tried to compel him to attack Merrill. The succubus isn't sure why Hawke shouted roared out something about a gem, but the intention was pretty clear. In all in all, it looks like the battle is well in hand despite the succubus seemingly able to heal itself by siphoning energy from the mindscape itself.

Then it summons a babau to help out. Dog and Merrill peel off to fight _that_ demon, leaving just Zevran, Hawke and Bob to work on the succubus, who proves it had been holding back another ace- specifically, shades of what look like normal townsfolk. A smith, a pair of scholars, a dozen or so in indeterminate outfits and even a guard. None of them are especially dangerous but they fight without any care of self-preservation and their constant heart-rending sobbing is... distracting to say the least. Merrill is caught by a very nasty blow from the babau, which pulls Zevran off to guard her while he heals himself.

It's during this lack of coverage that the succubus decides to play mind games again, though of a different sort. Teleporting right behind Helene, it quickly reaches down to grab them by the throat. "This is your fault, you know," it whispers to the sasmaran, pulling them back tightly against its warm, oiled chest. "If you hadn't lied to yourself for so many years, little girl, poor Sharran wouldn't have doubted himself enough for me to reach in and take his mind for myself."

Helene can't help themself -- they scream, a short, tight sound, cut off after only a brief instant. Terror breaks through the child's usual controlled expression; Helene isn't much for touching, so to invade their personal space in such a horrendously threatening way seems to be more than they can handle. It's easy to see why they're so reserved, so controlled -- in that moment, eyes wide with horror and shock, screaming in a high-pitched girlish voice, they seem truly vulnerable, truly childlike.

Sharran, meanwhile, seems to be going through something similar. He twitches, tears clouding his vision. "No, please -- this isn't right. My father wasn't right about me. I'm a-- I'm a girl, aren't I? Helene?" His voice is small, lost, desperate.

"Both of you, so delusional," purrs the succubus, sliding a hand into Helene's pants -- prompting another scream. "Definitely a girl," it says, with a nod.

"Get the fuck away from them!" Hawke lunges at the succubus with renewed vigor, beating at the creature with his staff even as he sends bolt after bolt of ice at the monstrosity. It is forced to drop Helene, and the child collapses in a shuddering heap -- but the demon is between Helene and help, and Sharran doesn't seem in any state to help.

The cold doesn't seem to bother the succubus the way it does other creatures. Things take a turn then, as the succubus pulls off a lucky blow that puts Hawke down, bleeding on the ground. By the time the babou succumbs, it's drawn Dog and Bob off quite a ways, meaning only Zevran is in reach and standing as the succubus turns on Helene again.

He tries. There's no way he can get between it and Helene, not until it's grabbed Helene by the throat again and lifted them off the ground. "Whoops. I guess I broke her." It slams the struggling Helene into a wall to quiet them, then pulls them close, holding them still as it grabs their head with one hand, clearly intending to snap their neck and be done.

"No!" Sherran moves toward Helene, but it's clear she won't reach them before the demon can be done with them. "Take me instead!"

Just as the demon starts to move, there's a bright flash of light. When it fades, Helene is curled in a fetal position on the ground where Sharran was standing -- and the demon holds the limp, lifeless body of Sharran in both arms, having just snapped the girl's neck.

Zevran doesn't hesitate a second- he grabs a shovel from a nearby stall and lays into the demon with near absolute disregard for himself. In the back of his mind, he wonders, _is this how it feels for Hawke? This chilling, tearing compulsion to stop a threat from harming her loved one, from avenging the innocent, regardless of the cost to oneself? Is this how she feels all the time?_

"Helene! Heal her!" he bellows, desperately hoping against hope she's only dying and not dead. Merrill is too far, having gone to heal Hawke, and Dog, while a great help in attacking as she is now, cannot assist in that manner. So it's only them that has a chance. "Helene! Please!"

Helene does the impossible: they lift their head, hearing their name torn from Zevrans lips with such force. Slowly, agonizingly, they crawl toward Sharran, whispering softly as they reach for their lover, clinging to her hand tightly. But still, Sharran doesn't move.

The world around them dims further, making it hard to see. Hawke, clinging to Merrill's hand as he climbs unsteadily to his feet, looks around for a moment, then calls out, "Everyone out! It's coming apart!"

Merrill clings tightly to Hawke, eyes shutting as he focuses on following the sense of _tension_ just behind his nose back to her body. Dog hunches down, seeming to focus as well. Zevran however, is... a bit focused. Something about this has reached in and ripped a jagged hole in her defenses. This... accursed _thing_ shall _not_ be getting out of here. No matter what.

"Zevran!" shouts Hawke, feeling torn. _I have to make sure he gets out,_ one part of him says. _I'm the last one out, always._ Another part, a larger part, is already rejecting this reality. _We have to get out of here, this isn't real, we have to wake up!_ "Zevran, run!" he shouts again, voice hoarse, body already going transparent.

Helene curls up over Sharran's body, weeping, whispering, trying desperately to bring her back.

Zevran flicks a glance at Hawke, then winks. "My turn to nap! Look after Voice for me!" he shouts before stabbing the demon through the leg despite the attack opening her up for a counter attack. She figures that the 'world' isn't going to last much longer anyway so she might as well go out by-- Said counter blow does in fact disrupt the retired assassin's avatar, forcibly dismissing him. A second later, the world ends.

The demon has just enough time to feel cheated, to feel fear, before its mind shatters in an endless number of pieces. And unlike a mortal, the demon lacks a body to serve as an anchor, to allow the pieces a home to return to. Eternity is no longer a blessing nor an opportunity when it's spent as unthinking motes scattered across an infinite void.

Helene has a different fate. Their avatar is fractured and scattered, sentencing them to over a week of being comatose. But they were also the last living being within a mind devoid of identity. What's more, they were both loved by and attempting to recover that mind, that identity. As their mind is disbursed until it slowly gathers itself, it takes a few extra shards along. Not personality, that was erased. But memories. Flashes of things.

The recipe Sharran has perfected for her homemade dog food.

Sharran and Helene's first kiss, Helene's lips soft and yielding.

A glimpse of a classroom, learning about Alydra's core tenants for the first time, and realizing how powerful the idea of truth could be.

Huddling in the sewers, dreading the return of the scaled monster that had dragged her there.

Spending an entire afternoon curled up with a puppy, the mother laying with her head on Sharran's leg as she tries not to cry.

Finding out her calling, realizing the heavy price it demands but embracing it nevertheless.

Being freed from the dragon and finding out it was Helene, her Helene, that caused her to be rescued.

Realizing that despite their flaws, despite their weirdness and all that it entails, she loves Helene.

Accepting that Helene loves her. Not just Sharran, but _her_ as Sharran.

Seeing the mirror in that slime infested crypt. Realizing with sudden horror that it's been tainted, twisted.

Seeing Helene one last time and finally saving them like they had done for her, over and over again but wishing she didn't have to go.

Perhaps it's because Helene is a samsaran, built and designed to accept semi-forgotten shards of memories that are and aren't their own. Perhaps it would have happened for anymore. Or maybe it would have only take a strong bond between the giver and the gifted. But as their mind slowly pulls itself back together, the memories are taken in seamlessly and without complication. Still distinctly other, but a part of themself nonetheless.

~*~

Zevran becomes aware, slowly. The darkness of unconsciousness gives way, bit by bit, to the bright red glow of the inside of his eyelids. It's a room he'd never slept in before this; a room, originally a guest room, in Hawke's new home, now dedicated to storing healing items, crafting poultices, and housing the unconscious who need a place to rest. Hawke always thought she'd be the first one to slumber here. Never someone she loved, not while she waited.

She hadn't been sleeping well, torn between Light business and spending every waking moment here, in this room, with her beloved, stubborn, idiot warrior and his friend. Despite the sun's waking, she's slumped in an armchair, Merrill curled up beside her, Silence at her feet. She dozes lightly, already beginning to wake despite herself.

_Alright, that's... a seven. Not as bad as waking up after being whipped unconscious or mind controlled into raping oneself past exhaustion, but worse than a hangover,_ he decides. _Strange, Hawke hadn't mentioned waking up with a headache. Though I suppose she hadn't been dispersed during a mindscape co- Sharran! Helene!_

With a pained groan, he fights his way to a sitting position, trying to make eyes work well enough to look around. Merrill, giving as always lie to the myth that all elves barely even sleep but instead merely rest lightly, doesn't so much as twitch but Silence comes to an alert, giving of a sharp ruff.

That's enough -- Hawke wakes fully, reaching for her staff (which is across the room, not to her right as she thinks it is) as she does. Seeing Zevran sitting up, she relaxes finally, a tight smile across her face. "Zevran," she says, her voice soft to avoid waking Merrill. "Are you alright? Should I get Wynne?" She doesn't get up -- she recalls this waking, remembers the need for family being more urgent than the need for a healer.

"Helene," he rasps out from his sandpapered throat. Silence rises to go fetch Wynne out of habit.

"She's-- sorry, they're alive." Hawke reaches for Zevran's hand. "Still sleeping." _It'll be fine. I was fine. Zevran is fine. Helene will be alright. There's probably no chance for serious damage. Probably. I mean, it might be different being caught still inside when someone dies. But Zevran woke up. Though Zevran is probably stronger-willed and more experienced. No, but surely Helene will be alright._

"They," Zevran repeats despite the correction, just a wee bit overprotective at the moment. "I- everyone well?" he manages, taking her hand as he tries to swallow.

Hawke nods. "I know, I'm sorry," she says, automatically. _That must have been hard for them, from what I saw in Sharran's mind... I didn't really think much about how it must feel to have that kind of pressure and guilt, that you tried to remake yourself and now people are suffering for it._ "Everyone..." She takes a deep breath, lets it out again. "Helene will wake, we think. Merrill is fine. I'm fine. Dog is fine."

"Take to them," he croaks, trying to get out of bed but still feeling like absolute shit.

Hawke extracts herself from Merrill, moving to help Zevran. "Helene is here," she says, sitting beside him so she can direct his gaze to the other cot in the room. Helene is slumbering in a pair of two-piece pyjamas, soft buttery yellow doing nothing for their complexion but managing to avoid being pink or blue. The flannel is probably uncomfortable this time of year, but a nightgown or a pair of boxers would be gendered.

He relaxes slightly, giving Hawke a soft, loving smile of thanks as she helps him over. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Zevran reaches over to take Helene's hand gently in his own. "The last thing I recall was the world shuddering itself into nothing. Everything was..."

Before he can find the words he needs, Wynne enters the room with a tray and Silence at her heels. "Warm herbal tea and a gentle meat broth," she announces in her 'this is not an offer of food, this is a prescription of medicine' voice that probably makes Hawke start to reach for a bowl out of sheer instinct by this point. Wait, actually, there are three bowls and mugs.

Hawke gives a small, sad smile to Wynne. _Always looking after me._ Including this past week -- Wynne had been, had been for a long time, the person Hawke could cry in front of without worrying about disturbing, while Merrill was sleeping. Had been the person she could whisper her fears about Zevran, about Helene to. _I have to tell him,_ she realizes, and swallows. "Zevran... you should know that..." She takes a deep breath. "We... we failed."

Zevran takes a deep breath. "Not entirely," he says softly, still looking down at Helene as he rubs their hand with his thumb. "Sharran died free, died proving the demon's words false. It was not the happy ending we wanted, but at least she is with Mileen now."

Eyes widening just a hair, Wynne sets the tray down on a nearby nightstand. "Drink some tea, Zevran," she says gently, pressing a mug into his free hand. "You shouldn't talk with your throat so dry."

Hawke shakes her head, tears dropping into her lap. "But she died," she says, her voice bitter. "We went in there to save her."

He sips his tea, then suddenly drains the entire thing as his body informs him how amazing that was. Okay, so maybe he was a bit parched. "Yes, we did. And sometimes we can't win," he says bluntly. "We tried. She's free. That _has_ to be enough."

"How can it be?" Hawke whispers. "I failed. That can never, ever be enough. There had to be something I could have done better, something... Maybe we can bring her back. I paid for her to be... preserved, until Helene wakes. Maybe we can..."

Zevran hesitates, then shrugs. "I suspect Helene has a way of... asking if that is appropriate," he finally says, frowning a little. A small part of him is annoyed that Hawke is making this about her failure instead of Sharran's death or even Helene's loss, but he tries to ignore it. "Where... how long has it been? Did someone go to Sharran's house? She has a dog..."

"Varric went by to insure there wasn't anything... problematic in her house," Wynne says quietly. "Aveline is looking after Sharran's mabari."

Hawke nods. "I asked around some, as well, looked for other people who knew her. To... to spread the news, gather contact information for..." _the funeral_ , she thinks but can't say. "when... when Helene wakes up, I'll..." She takes a deep breath, and he can see the mantle settle over her, see her straighten and lift her chin, forcing the tears back. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to put this on you. I'm just a little raw right now."

A pang of guilt hits then. True, he's grieving himself, though he'd not really met Sharran much before either, he'd become rather good friends with Helene. And of course, one can't help but feel a deep connection to someone after a Delve in their mindscape. He shifts a little, making a spot next to him on the edge of the bed. "Sit with me," he offers gently.

Wynne sighs a little before moving to get them some chairs to sit in while they wait for poor Helene to wake.

Hawke settles in next to Zevran, seeking his body instinctively, conforming to the curve of his side the way she would if they were lying in bed together. "Helene will have to make the decisions. Sharran doesn't have any other family in town," she says, quietly.

Thinking back to the shouts, the words about Sharran's father, he snorts. "I suspect she lacks any real family anywhere, other than Helene," he says bitterly. "It is enough to make one suspect that having a truly loving blood family is impossible."

Hawke winces. "Can we fix that?" she wonders, only half joking. "Maybe we need parent education classes too..."

Merrill lets out a soft whine, groping around. Not feeling anyone around her, she opens bleary eyes and peers about.

"I think with your clinics and my work with cleaning up the evils of the sex trade, we are rather stretched thin... but perhaps that could be our next work," Zevran agrees, watching Merrill do her adorable wake-up routine.

The last of Hawke's fatigue slips away, and she smiles warmly at Merrill from her spot on the bed, speaking to her in Elven: "Merrill, my love, Zevran is awake."

"M'kay," she mumbles, orienting on the voice. She oozes from the chair to flop into their laps almost bonelessly. And almost falls out, not having enough room for it. She grumbles softly, then suddenly turns into a small dog with black fur and tiny flecks of white patches, almost like stars.

"...so that's new, right?" Zevran asks, remarkably calm, as the 'dog' happily cuddles them both. _She'd mentioned trying to learn a new trick but having some kind of mental roadblock but... turning into a dog? Really?_

Hawke stares at the dog, then snorts, trying to hold back a laugh. "Well! That's.... new. Yes."

"Only notre fleur jolie would master shapeshifting just to cuddle better," he muses as he studies the dog happily draped across their legs. The transformation had also clearly caught Silence's attention, the mabari swiftly comes over to inspect the new form. Merrill groans a little as the cold nose pokes her belly, squirming and causing the bed to shake.

Hawke scoops the dog up into her arms, moving back to the other cot. "Hey, let's not romp on their bed," she scolds, but it's too late -- Helene's head shifts, just a little, toward Zevran. Their hand closes on empty air, then opens again, groping for something.

Zevran closes his hand back around theirs, having had to let go to prevent Merrill from falling off their laps. "Welcome back to being awake, my friend," he says softly.

Merrill attempts to pout but it doesn't quite come out right on a dog's face. Giving up, she shifts back to elf, wrapping her arms around Hawke as she does so. "Cuddles?" she pleads, still half asleep.

Hawke wraps her arms around Merrill easily. "I think you woke Helene, " she says quietly.

Helene closes their hand tightly around Zevran's, their body relaxing slightly as they do. _Safe_. Their eyes flutter open next, and they turn slightly toward Zevran, a question in their eyes.

He hesitates, only a moment, but it's likely enough to tell them what's coming before he says it. "She's with Mileen now," he whispers, readying himself to hold them or... whatever they need next.

"Oh," the elf says sleepily. "Wait... you're awake?" she asks, confused and peering at Hawke intently.

Hawke blinks. "Yes?"

Helene's grip tightens during that space, becoming painfully tight once more. Their eyes close for a moment; a few tears slide out beneath their lids. Then the eyes open, and Helen gives a small nod. "Understood," they whisper, voice raspy and small.

"Yay, you're back," Merrill says happily, giving Hawke a big kiss. Wait a minute... what now?

Hawke kisses Merrill before pulling back with a chuckle. "Merrill, you're dreaming again. I was never away."

"Is there a way I can comfort you?" Zevran asks gently. "A... hug or... there's tea?"

Helene hesitates for a moment, their death grip still on Zevran's hand. "Tea would be nice," they say after a moment, before struggling to sit up without letting go.

Wynne, just returning with another tray with more tea on it for Merrill and Zevran, sets the tray down and moves to help the small samaran sit up with Zevran's help. Behind her, Rhys is carrying in two chairs. Once Helene is upright against the headboard, Zevran takes a seat, all without letting go of their hand. Wynne passes them both mugs with warm herbal tea even as she looks them both over with a critical eye.

Merrill ponders this for a moment, the kiss having kicked started her brain a bit more. "Oh... .right, you didn't get hurt for once," she says softly, nodding a little. She peers around Hawke and sees the two sleepers alert and lets out a relieved sigh. "Our wicked moon is back."

Hawke nods, cuddling Merrill close. "And Helene as well."

Helene takes the mug in her off hand, cradling it without sipping yet. There will be time to grieve, they know, but right now, they feel numb... mostly. Holding Zevran's hand seems to keep the worst of the feelings away, as though nothing can touch them, nothing can quite hurt them here.


	11. "Someone married you!?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs and Mrs zi'Hawke go on a trip to visit relatives. It goes poorly.

There's a suspicious envelope in Varric's mailbox today. For one thing, it's not from Nyra; each city's envelope style had diverged over time, and Nyra currently favored squarish, red ones. This is an older style, faded tan, with an unfamiliar seal on it. The older envelope indicates it's likely from a smaller town, maybe one of his trading partners -- but this isn't addressed to Varric, it's addressed to Merrill zi'Hawke.

Without a hint of shame or hesitation, Varric proceeds to ensure the safety and wellbeing of his daughter-electi by carefully scanning, opening and reading her mail.

It's from Goldengreen apparently -- a belated well-wishing from Elder Marethari, and a suggestion that she bring her new wife by for a visit. Apparently, the wedding invitation had been mislaid in the mail, and had only recently reached its destination. That explains why they never heard back -- or, perhaps the Elder wants something?

"Hrrrm." On one hand, fuck all of them for shunning sweet Moonbeam. On the other hand, Elder Marethari had been the one that was good to the girl, at least as best she could. Evidently she was just as reserved as Wynne, but thrice as busy and with an helping of elven laissez faire attitude atop the reserve. So... nodding to himself, the dwarf carefully refolds the paper and reseals it before heading over to Hawke's new place to drop it off.

When he walks into the parlor Varric almost worries he'll have to use his wand again -- but no, they're both fully clothed. Hawke is just... lying in Merrill's lap, letting the elf pet her hair. It's a weird moment to walk in on -- usually, Marian's cuddling her wife, comforting her. But for whatever reason, today, it's the other way around.

Marian smiles when she sees her papa walk in. "Hey, Varric."

"Hey... you alright?" he asks, tucking the letter away absently. He almost asks if she wants to go over some paperwork out of habit, but then he remembers he's at her house, not his. And isn't that a hells of a thing... _her_ house. _My dainty little elf-daughter, all married and living on her own now. Well, not by herself obviously but still._

Merrill flashes a smile but keeps her focus on trying to braid Hawke's three inches or so of hair into tiny little braids. "I'm fine," Hawke says, with that smile that means 'I'm pretending to be fine' "I'd get up, but Merrill seems intent on fixing up my hair."

"No moving," Merrill says absently, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she focuses.

"....right," he says after a moment. _Is this normal? Eh, not the worst thing I could walk into in a newlywed's house._ He catches Hawke's eye then, subtly warning her he has a non-emergency but possibly distressing thing to bring up about... Merrill? "So what've you two been up to today?"

"This morning we helped Helene get the last supplies and get Spots settled." That might explain why she's a little tired-looking.

"He and Beka got on quite well but Silence seemed a little stand-offish," Merrill says with a slight pout.

"...isn't Silence stand-offish with...everyone that isn't Clan?" Varric asks aloud. "She doesn't even care much for Zevran or Isabela for that matter."

"From what they tell me about Mabari, it's more unusual that Beka is so friendly. They tend to bond to one person tightly." volunteers Marian.

"Wouldn't do for an offisah of the law to be too distant," Varric adds in. "I mean, what are the odds Beka would be lucky enough to find canine Hawke to fetch the stick?"

"What stick?" Merrill asks, brown furrowed, then her eyes widen dramatically.. "Wait! You think there's a doggo Hawke?"

_Shit. Uh..._ "So I got some of your mail, Moonbeam," he tries.

"Did you? Purely on accident, I'm sure," chuckles Hawke.

"Actually yeah, it was this time," he says without shame. "But anyway, it's from Golden Green," he says conversationally. Merrill doesn't say anything but Hawke feels a sharp sting as her hair is yanked as the elf's hand clenches for a second.

"So nothing important, then. Good to know." The pain doesn't last long as a cool tingling passes over her skin.

"What- umm. Did it... say..." Merrill asks haltingly, head bowed as she studies Hawke's hair intently, fingers rubbing her crown apologetically.

"Yeah... evidently, your invitation got delayed. Elder Marethari sends her blessing and an invitation of her own for both of you. Reading between the lines, she's not sure if it got delayed on the way or once it was there," Varric explains.

Hawke sighs. "Of course. Well, my love, are we visiting family?" Merrill continues to fret with Hawke's hair silently for a minute, not replying. "It's your decision," she continues, gently. "If you want to go, we'll go. If you want to send regrets, we will. If you want to go and only talk to Marethari and ignore everyone else, we can do that. If you want to go and have me dress up and flex my amazing muscles at everyone until they're jealous of you, we can be petty bitches together."

Merrill shifts a little, expression a mix of guilty, ashamed and relieved. "You... you don't think less of me wanting to go? For... them to be proud of me? Of being afraid of going?" she whispers.

"Of course not. They didn't even stab you." She glances to Varric with a grin on her face.

Merrill giggles a little. "I want to go. I want to be beautiful and wonderful and powerful and all sorts of fuls. And more, I want you there, even more fuls than me. I want them to be happy for me, proud of me and what I've done, who I've become with you. I want them to choke on it." She hunches down a little as she finishes.

Chuckling a little, Varric nods. "Seems reasonable to me, right Hawke?"

"Sounds perfect."

~*~

Three days later, the four of them arrive in GoldenGreen. The plan had just been for Merrill and Hawke to come, but later in the day after getting the letter, Aveline had come over. She'd attempted to act as if she'd just been visiting, but her reaction to hearing Hawke would be out of the city for at least a week had been rather telling. After taking her aside, Hawke is able to pry out some but not all of the issue: evidently, Aveline was asked, politely, to use up a few weeks of her five months of leave while things... settle.

Merrill, overhearing this (Aveline's voice had raised a wee bit during her explanation), instantly glomps the paladin and invites her along. After the elf hurries off to keep packing, Hawke explains what's going on and where she was just invited to. Not wanting to spend the next few weeks stewing in her home with just Beka, Aveline agrees to come along and help Hawke explain how wonderful a person Merrill is.

And so they arrive the small elven enclave, Aveline driving the fairly nice coach that Hawke had rented for image. Beka, not liking the infernal contraption had been trotting along side, leaving the two wives with the cabinet to themselves for most of the trip. Something that gets an amused smirk from Aveline when they emerge with Merrill quickly smoothing out some wrinkles on her dress.

The elf, after some rather intense debate sprinkled with heapings of self-doubt and fretting, had finally been convinced to wear and pack her own creations instead of bringing what few store bought clothing she has. She's currently wearing a deep mossy green dress that fades into a dark blue past the knee and elbows with flecks of purple and black at the hemlines. Her hair is twisted into a coil and threaded with silver wire and decorative leaves. Other than that, her only ornamentation is the coil of magically preserved ribbon from their handfasting around her left wrist, her and Hawke's names written in both elven and dwarven in a never ending loop.

"Friendly bunch," Aveline murmurs to Hawke as she gives the horses a quick check over. A few of the locals are giving them glances or even a few outright stares, but no-one is approaching them. Not even a wave or shouted greeting. "Is there an inn or..?"

"Probably not," chirps Hawke. "We brought my tent, just in case." Her tent being a wedding present from Varric -- one of many such gifts -- and thus being a spacious wonder easily capable of housing four. Hawke's wearing her ring prominently, her signet ring nestled next to it, but she's also wound her own ribbon around her right hand, so it shows when she grips her staff -- which she expects to be doing a lot. She's wearing an ice blue dress with a layer of lace over top, and a gold necklace with a snowflake encircling a sapphire nestled in the bit of skin exposed by the deep neckline. She's brought her cream-colored Guiding Light stole, though she's left it in the bag. She's even wrapped cream and blue ribbon around her staff.

"Look regal," she warns Aveline, smiling at her.

Aveline raises an eyebrow, glancing down at herself. She'd rather pointedly, painfully, not brought her guard tabard, but she's still wearing head to toe gleaming mithril full plate with both the symbol her city and her deity etched in to the chest.. Her dual-symbol embossed shield is on her back, mostly hidden by her mottled green and brown cloak, but there's simply no failing to realize she's a paladin. _Or at least someone wishing to give that impression,_ she allows.

The only real nod to 'fashion' she's accepted is the steel wire in her hair of the same design as Merrill's. Well, that and a strip of rose colored silk with Hawke's sigil wrapped around her upper right arm but she would consider that a badge and a warning, not fashionable.

"So... umm, right. We're here," Merrill says brightly, eyes a little wild. "We should... go see Elder Marethari. To tell her. That we're here, I mean." Beka trots up to nuzzle her hand, earning a very grateful scratch. A moment later, Bob swoops down to land on Beka's back.

"Great! M'lady?" Hawke asks, offering her arm to Merrill.

It's with a barely hidden sense of desperate relief that Merrill hooks arms with Hawke, moving close enough their shoulders will brush as they walk. Aveline gives Beka a guard command, not that she expects the elves to steal or break anything but it's a good habit to have. Bob debates with himself for a moment, then darts away to explore the area. Hawke and Aveline will be with his Lady, and taking them out will undoubtedly make enough noise to alert him in the doing.

For the most part, the trio are ignored by the locals, with only a few children staring at them curiously. A pair of half-elves offer nods, but that's balanced out and more by a trio of elven women about Merrill's age looking at them and then laughing amongst themselves. Merrill wilts noticeably, her despairing inattention causing her to stumble slightly. Hawke keeps her upright of course, the stumble barely noticeable, but that doesn't prevent a second wave of laughing that only stops when Aveline and Hawke reply with some outright threatening glares.

Elder Marethari's tree home is set a little away from the town itself, around an ancient oak tree. As is traditional, it's two stories plus a small cellar. The building wraps around the trunk of the tree, supporting and being supported by it equally, with the second story rising up to about five feet from the lowest branch. The cellar is entered from the outside of the house, and besides being used for storage, allows the owner to reach the root system of the tree so they can make offerings of nourishment as thanks for allowing them to share the home.

As they near the tree home, they're greeted by a quartet of, uh, horse-raptor fusions. The beasts, with the bodies of prized combat mounts and the wings, head and forelegs of an eagle spread out to menace the trio, hissing softly and mantling their wings in a threat display, which reveals that one of them has a crooked wing. "Merrill?" Aveline asks quietly, hand drifting towards her blade.

"Hippogriffs?" Merrill wonders aloud. "I didn't know Elder Marethari had a herd of hippogriffs..." Without any sign of fear, without even the nerves and lack of self-confidence she'd had simply walking through town, Merrill happily approaches the four predators and dips into a curtsy, letting a happy sounding chirrup as she does so.

"Is four a herd?" asks Hawke, studying them carefully, staff in hand. Horses were fine. Exotic mounts were fine too... so long as they didn't raise a claw against her sweet, innocent Merrill.

"Hippogriffs group like raptors, not horses- living in pairs, though they don't mind close neighbors unless food is scarce," a new voice answers a few seconds after Hawke and Aveline detected an approach. Elder Marethari almost looks like she hasn't changed a bit in the six years or so since Hawke had last seen her- except Hawke sees more than just the surface these days. She's hit some invisible line, crossed from being old into being old. Her face is no more wrinkled, but her eyes are just a little less vibrant. Her step is not less graceful, but there's just a hint of a pause in between steps as she takes care in her movements. Even elves age, even elves get old, eventually.

She's accompanied by another hippogriff, this one missing a wing entirely, with some serious scar tissue on their flank. The other four beasts seem to stand down at her approach, moving towards the Elder. "Oh. Elder Marethari, it... that is to say... we're here?" Merrill offers with an attempt at bright cheery voice. Aveline moves her hand away from the shield on her back as she determines this isn't going to be a combat.

"So I see, my child. You look well," Elder Marethari replies kindly, patting one of the retreating hippogriffs softly on the neck.

"It's lovely to see you again, Elder," says Hawke, with a small bow. "I hope we are not imposing with our visit."

"I wouldn't have invited you if you'd be imposing," the Elder replies serenely as she gives the hippogriff one last pat before sending it off. Moving slowly towards her front door, she adds, "Please, come inside. I baked some fresh scones this morn."

Aveline eyes the house a little warily, having never had much exposure to true elven culture and being suddenly struck with worry about her full plate causing massive destruction in the intricately carved and somewhat frail looking building.

Merrill glances at Hawke with a hopeful smile, then heads after the Elder. "Ooh, scones," says Hawke with a grin, wrapping her right arm around Merrill as she keeps up.

A minute later, the trio are seated at Elder Marethari's kitchen table. It's much as the outside of the home would suggest- a blend of ornate and simplistic, as there are few unneeded objects but those that are there are exquisitely crafted and of high quality. Most of them appear to be rather old but well cared for. As Hawke looks around, she starts to get something of an idea on where Merrill's tastes formed from. Well, if you add in a head tilt and a much increased fondness for star themes.

The Elder's own spirit animal, an old looking lynx, gives them a gimlet stare from his spot above the small stove but doesn't honor them to otherwise react. He looks a bit scruffy, but in good health despite his clearly advanced age.

"So... I'm really sorry you couldn't come to my handfasting," Merrill blurts out as the Elder sets a plate of berry scones down in front of them. "I sent it a month in advance and I thought that would be plenty of time but I should have done it sooner- or oh no, I should have delivered it myself but-"

She stops at the feel of Aveline's hand on her shoulder. "A month should have been fine, Merrill," the paladin says gently. "It's not your fault that it was... so greatly delayed."

"Why don't you tell her about it?" asks Hawke, smiling. "You're so good at telling stories, I'm sure it'll be almost as good. We were handfasted in Fiddler's Grove, on a warm afternoon," she begins to Marethari, hoping to entice Merrill into taking over.

It works, after a few more prompts to take her past her hesitations and stumbles. Marethari is a good listener, paying clear attention to the story and even asking questions to prove she's really interested and not just humoring the younger elf. It's clear what Merrill remembers best: her descriptions linger on her family, on her Guiding Star most of all. Aveline steps in a few times to add in details, but mostly it's Merrill who speaks.

"And then Zevran gave the other best man speech and he's really good with talking and words and being funny and insightful so it was taken really well and people keep laughing and clapping but also blushing with is strange because he had pants on and wasn't even talking about sex," she rambles.

Aveline snorts, muttering to Hawke, "he could describe a bucket of paint and it would be about sex."

Hawke laughs. "What majesty it would be to see this wonderful paint drizzled across the flesh of my delicate flower," she jokes in Elven, in an accent not unlike Zevran's.

Aveline flushes a little, then elbows her not all that softly in the side. "[Behave]," she hisses at Hawke in Dwarven.

Merrill and Marethari thankfully don't seem to have noticed, still caught up wedding talk. In a brief lull as Merrill tries to think of what to talk about next, the Elder reaches out to take Merrill's hand gently. "I really am sorry I missed it Merrill."

Expression placid, Aveline slips her hand onto Hawke's thigh. Unlike her other lovers however, this isn't a prelude to fun times but rather the guard getting into a tactically superior position.

"Ummm.... it's... okay," Merrill says softly. "I... I know you would have... wanted to go. If you could have. If you'd known, I mean."

"Thank you, mon enfant errant," Marethari replies, a strange smile on her lips. "You're a very kind girl.

_My wayward child?_ translates Hawke, taking slight poetic liberties in Common as she smiles fondly at Merrill. _They really are family..._ "I certainly think so," laughs Hawke.

Marethari glances over at her comment, eyes studying Hawke closely. "You'll look after her, Lady Hawke? Promise me that?"

The laughter dies away and a serious look enters Hawke's eye. "I swear on my life."

For a moment, it's like looking Wynne in the eye. Like Marethari is weighting Hawke's soul, her heart, for the truth and value of her word. "Thank you," she says simply, giving Merrill's hand a squeeze. "Now, tell me more about your dress," she says, distracting Merrill from the rather... intense moment.

_I know that look,_ thinks Hawke, and her heart aches for Merrill. _I've seen it in the mirror, late at night._

~*~

"Is there anyone else you'd like to visit?" asks Hawke, brightly, as they leave Elder Marethari's home a short while later. "If not, I wouldn't mind seeing around the village some."

"I'll go bring the carriage round to that... magical grove Merrill conjured out of nothing," Aveline says with a shake of her head. It's a perfectly harmless bit of magic, but still. Seeing that spring out of nothingness... sometimes she can almost understand Carver's feelings on- she cuts that line of thought off brutally, her face hardening as she recalls what he did after Hawke's wedding.

Merrill bounces over to give Aveline a hug, then bounces back to Hawke. She's clearly in a much brighter mood after the very lovely and welcoming conversation with Marethari. "Thank you! Umm, well, we can walk around and... there's not much of a marketplace but we can poke around?"

"Of course, you want to go shopping," Hawke laughs. "Alright then, let's go shopping, my wife."

"Wife," Merrill repeats dreamily, still savoring the word each and every time it's spoken. "Your wife," she murmurs, leaning in to kiss Hawke slow and long.

Aveline shakes her head a little as she heads off. She... can't deny that she enjoys the times she's with Hawke. She's never been one to back away from a self-truth. But the sheer amount of... time the three of them spend on sex is simply mind-boggling to her really.

Hawke grins at Merrill as she breaks the kiss. "Never gets old," she says dreamily. _The word, of course, not the kissing. Not that the kissing gets old either._

The marketplace is lovely -- Hawke finds several market stalls selling strange enough magic and alchemical items that she finds herself actually enjoying the shopping trip. When she spies a stall selling roasted chestnuts, she gives Merrill a quick peck on the cheek and leaves her looking over textiles so she can get them both a snack.

Merrill beams at Hawke as she darts away, her expression dreamy and a little bit lax as she thinks of her wife. And, to be honest, wonders if maybe Aveline might finally be willing to join them tonight? She loves the paladin, not as much as the stars and moons, but she loves her just the same. And... well, Aveline is very handsome. Much bigger and more muscled than either of her two lovers, or the handful of Zevran's friends that have joined them in bed.

Her mind wandering, she doesn't notice the trio of elven women slowly approaching her. They're all about her age, perhaps a few years older, and dressed in traditional elven outfits. One of them is the leader, a fact made obvious by her finer clothes, prettier face and the deep crimson silk ribbon on her wrist.

Slipping an arm around Merrill's shoulders, one of the other two starts walking her away from the textile booth before Merrill can react. "Wha-"

"Oh, don't you remember me, Merrill? Why, we were practically sisters!" the elf holding her says in Elven, faking hurt.

"Layla? Sis- we weren't..." Merrill breaks off, confused. "Melane? Raynara?" she finishes weakly, heart sinking at the last face.

"Oh Layla, you poor thing! To be rejected so by little Merrill," Raynara says, hooking an arm around Merrill's free arm. "Why, it seems like only yesteryear when little Moonstruck would follow you around begging to play with us."

"I'm not... that's not my-"

"Tsk, tsk, Moonstruck. Forgetting your home and your dear childhood friends so fast?" the third woman says softly. "Oh how Elder Marethari must be ashamed... all that effort and hardship she underwent for you and this is how you turn out? Well, we were can't blame her for it..." Raynara says kindly, eyes gleaming.

"Absolutely. She did her best, it's just well... you know how it is," another agrees.

"No, she's proud of me. She- she would have come if- I'm married now, and-"

"You! Someone married you?" Layla asks incredulously, yanking her arm up to see the ribbon around Merrill's wrist.

Merrill straightens a little, the reminder giving her a little strength. _Hawke. Hawke married me. She loves me. She thinks-_ Her mind shudders to a halt when Raynara reaches over and yanks the ribbon off her arm to inspect it. "[Hawk]? Isn't that the common word for a bird? Oh Moonstruck, you can't go about pretending to marry animals, you poor thing."

The blood drains from Merrill's face as she stares at the ribbon in Raynara's hands. "What? No, I- she's my wife, she's not a hawk- I mean, well, she is, sort of but no-"

"Oh Uryll preserve us, she really did marry a bird!" Melane titters. "Oh that's too much, we have to tell Rosalie and her sister, she'll just die."

Without a backward glance, the three move off, leaving Merrill by herself on the edge of the market. When Hawke finally finds her a minute or so later, she's still in the same position, just staring at nothing. Her face is pale and she's shaking, her breath rapid and shallow- were it not for her shamanic gifts, she'd have fainted already.

A cold snap, unnatural for the season. "Who." Hawke's tone is flat, as she grips her staff tightly, her free hand rapidly putting a dent in the heat of the fresh chestnuts. Her eyes scan the crowd, looking for an enemy.

Merrill doesn't respond to the words, nor the cold. She continues to tremble, stare and hyperventilate, her arm still outstretched. Her bare arm. None of the elves around them- and the crowd isn't that big, the village only has about half a thousand souls in it and it's getting late- look like they're really paying attention to either of them. Nor are any of them running away.

Hawke takes a deep breath, then presses the chestnuts into her pouch. She sticks two fingers in her mouth and gives a loud, piercing whistle.

"Fair warning," she calls in Elven, once she has some attention. "You're not going to like what's about to happen unless someone starts pointing me at the fuckers who hurt my wife." That does get a few startled looks, but other than some muttering, no-one says anything. Most of them just look disapproving of the rather vulgar display. Certainly none of them seem unduly worried. Which makes sense really- they have no idea who she is. What she can do.

Her whistle had two other effects however- one is a loud bark, designed to sound distinct and to carry long distances. Beka.

The other is a soft whimper. Glancing back, Hawke sees Merrill finally looking at her. "H-h-ha-ha-awke, I-I-I'm s-s-sssorry."

Hawke turns then. She can't muster a sympathetic expression; her face is etched in fury. But she does manage a sympathetic tone. "My flower. You did nothing wrong. Please, tell me who has hurt you."

"I d-d-didn't even- I c-c-couldn't even- mmm s-s-sorry," she whimpers, eyes closing in shame as she slowly sinks to her knees. "Didn't even t-t-try. W-weak. S-s-ssorry."

_No no no NO!_ Hawke turns from Merrill, letting out a roar of rage -- and whipping up a blizzard, hailstones raining down on the marketplace. She turns her back on the destruction, panting, and kneels beside her wife. "I love you. Please, let's go home?"

There's shouts and cries from the marketplace but thankfully most of the area underneath the rain is either empty or stalls. Of course, this means that a fair bit of merchandise and other property is damaged but only a handful of people are hurt. Several of the elves start for the two woman, clearly hostile, while others rush toward the injured. Most, however, just scatter, trying to get out of range of further attacks.

Before the hostile elves reach the two woman, Beka comes roaring into the scene, planting herself in between. A beat later and Bob lands on Beka's back. "I can shatter a tree thicker than your heads with a single focused thought," he rumbles. "And if I do, that'll be a mercy compared to what the Lady Sage will do to you all."

It's fairly clear they don't entirely buy this, but it does cause them to hesitate a bit, giving time for Merrill to throw herself into Hawke's arms, sobbing wildly. It also gives time for a barn owl to swoop down a bit off to the side and shimmer into the form of an very old elf. "What is the meaning of this! What is going on here?" he demands, getting a jumbled mix of shouted replies that helps nothing.

Hawke cradles Merrill close, entangling her fingers in her wife's hair, making soft, soothing noises as the icy winds swirl around them. _Beka's here. Beka will protect her._ Hawke lets the tension flow out of her shoulders, breathing in the soft, warm scent of Merrill, rubbing her back gently as she sobs. She does not care what this elf has to say, or who they are. All she cares for right now is Merrill.

The shouts continue for a moment before the first voice finally gets everyone to shut up. Before he can say more, heavily armoured footsteps thunder into the market clearing. There's a bit of talking, then Aveline kneels down a few feet from the pair, slightly off to the side so Hawke can see her without moving her head. "Hawke... what happened?" she asks softly, eyes flicking between them and the crowd behind them.

"I don't know," Hawke says quietly. The storm has faded, but there's still hailstones on the pavement, and the air is still brisk. "They hurt Merrill."

"I didn't stop them," Merrill whispers into Hawke's shoulder. "I-I n-n-never stop them,"

Avelines knuckles tighten on her blade and she takes a deep breath. "Stop who, Moonb-" She breaks off at Merrill's deep flinch, then her eyes narrow. "...Merrill? What did- where's your ribbon?"

_Her.. ribbon?_ It takes Hawke a moment to realize what Aveline means. The moment she does, the temperature drops again, though thankfully she's able to hold back the hail. "We need to get her somewhere safe." _Then I will raze this place to the ground for her._

Aveline stares a moment, then takes a deep breath. "Beka, here," she calls out. Seconds later, the mabari at her side. "Item recovery. girl. Someone took Merrill's ribbon," she says softly. "Track them, identify at distance, then return to the carriage. Got that girl?" Beka whuffs softly, moving to get a few fresh nosefulls of Merrill's scent. "Bob, when she-"

"I'll recover milady's ribbon, have no fear," the chuspiki rumbles.

"Right. Thank you Bob. Hawke, we should get her to Elder Marethari's," Aveline murmurs then.

Hawke narrows her eyes at Bob. "Let me know who did it." The hard cruelty in her eyes isn't really directed at him -- which is probably a very good thing from his perspective. Then she turns back to Merrill, gently stroking her hair. "Merrill, my love, I'm taking you to safety." She wraps her arms around Merrill, trying to scoop her up into a bridal carry. "Let me take care of you, my wife."

For some reason, that gets a fresh bout of broken sobs, though she doesn't pull away at all. Behind them, the old elf has evidently gotten the crowd's side of things and is now coming for their side. "Hold! Witnesses claim you cast hostile magic into a crowd. Identify yourself!"

Hawke picks up Merrill, the wind ruffling her short hair dramatically. "I am [Lady Sage Marian Tethras zi'Hawke], Champion of Coalside, Demonsbane, Defender of the Innocent, and most importantly for you, wife to Merrill. And I have had. A very. Long. Day."

The Elder- that twisted coil of vines around his neck is telling now that she's bothering to look at him- winces back a half step, but stays his ground after. "And that is... important to know," he says carefully, "but you still injured a half dozen people and ruined hundreds of gold of goods,"

Aveline cuts in then: "And Hawke will pay for their healing and repairs," _or I will if I have to, what were you thinking Hawke?_ "but first we need to take care of Merrill after the attack on her."

The Elder pauses then, looking confused. "What attack? Marethari's Merrill?"

" _My_ Merrill," she says, her tone savage. She cradles Merrill closer to her chest, glaring at the Elder. "Was harmed by your people while my back was turned. I will have justice for this, rest assured." _No matter what they did to her -- assaulted her? Sexually assaulted her? Bespelled her? -- I will have justice._

The Elder hesitates again, peering at Merrill. "What happened to her?" he asks carefully.

"She's... not entirely responsive, but she's in shock and her handfasting ribbon was stolen," Aveline says crisply.

"Is she wounded? Bespelled?" the elder presses. "Theft of such is poorly done, but does not excuse an attack, particularly one so unspecific in scope."

"You will get the story after she's safe," snaps Hawke, starting to walk toward Marethari's home.

"Now see here, Lady Sage or not, you cannot just cast on our town and walk away from an investigation," the elder demands, starting after them.

Only to come up against Aveline, arms crossed and glaring at him. "Actually, under the Protected Affiliative Treaty you signed, Part Seven, clause eight, she can. As a Light, she is entitled to have a Nyran law official oversee her case to ensure she- and you- are held fully accountable to the law." She's not wearing her tabard, but she always has her ring, which she presents to the Elder. "On my authority as a Captain of the Guard, I'll be assuming supervisory authority over this incident. And right now, victim care takes priority. You can stay here or follow us to Elder Marethari's home but you won't be stopping us."

Hawke doesn't say anything else; she doesn't need to. She keeps walking, cradling her wife. _We shouldn't have come here. I'll get her safe, Bob will tell me who to kill, and I'll handle that. Then we go home and never come back._

The elder blusters a little, but between Hawke's threat display and Aveline's iron authority, he just trails after them. The hippogriffs come out to ward them off again, but break off before getting anywhere close after seeing Hawke. Beasts they may be, but they know the look of an apex predator defending a wounded mate.

Marethari takes one look and directs Hawke to the side of the house, to a tiny bedroom. From the dolls, heaps of shiny rocks and the tiny white dots painted on the dark blue ceiling, this must have been Merrill's once. Aveline blocks the other Elder- Baraithus evidently- from following, instead trapping him in the kitchen.

Merrill is quiet during all of this, just tightly clinging to Hawke. Once they're safely nestled away, she seems to finally calm a bit. "They took it, Hawke... they took our ribbon and I just watched. Just s-stood there and- I d-d-don't d-d-deserve-"

"You deserve the world," cuts in Hawke, tears dripping down her face to freeze on her cheeks. "And the moons and stars and the whole of the cosmos, Merrill, you're brilliant and beautiful."

"B-but I let them! I just let them take it and call you an animal and and I'm Moonstruck and just a stupid, crazy, brain-sick-"

Marethari, showing her love and her bravery both, reaches down to cup Merrill's cheek. "Hush, child. You're none of those things, as you well know. I'm the one that healed you after your accident," she reminds the young elf gently. "Different you may be but not broken or crazed, not anymore. You are healed."

_Accident? Not anymore?_ Hawke stills, clinging tightly to Merrill's hand. "I will get it back for you, my love," she whispers. "Don't fret. I will always save you."

Merrill whimpers a little, curling in on herself. "Always," she echoes, sounding... bitter.

"As long as I have breath," she whispers. "You deserve so much more than I can give you, my love, my flower, my wife. Whatever happened to you was my fault. I turned away, I thought... Tell me what you need."

Merrill turns her face a little away from Hawke and doesn't reply. She doesn't let go, still holds tightly to Hawke, but from the normally clingy elf, it's... a significant gesture.

"Little one, tell us what happened," Marethari asks softly, but firmly.

Merrill glances at the elder for a second then sighs. "It... it was Raynara and her friends," she says softly. "They... I was distracted- again- and I didn't see them coming. They just... I just let them. I didn't fight back. Just... I got taken again."

Marethari frowns slightly. She knows the names, knows the other two that were likely there. And... she'd thought this sort of thing had stopped but... _taken again? When had they 'taken' her somewhere before?_

"Taken?" asks Hawke, quietly. _Where? What did they do to her? If they touched her, so help me Vangal, I'll murder them._

"Danarius," the elf mumbles, confusing Marethari even more with the unfamiliar name. "Couldn't stop it, couldn't stop them. Just let them pull me away from you."

The bedcovers frost over, and Hawke tightens her grip on her wife. "Stay here," she whispers. "Stay with your [mother] and I will ensure they pay for what they've done." The word comes out in Dwarven thanks to long practice talking about Varric.

"Who is Danarius?" Marethari demands. "Merrill, did they injury you? What did they do?"

"..no. They just... reminded me I'm... Moonstruck," she says softly, not letting go of Hawke in the slightest.

Marethari stiffens. "Merrill! I will not have you call yourself that, not in my home, not in my presence, not ever. What happened to you was a mistake, and one that others have made before. We'd hardly have a method to have saved you so quickly otherwise, would we? And they know this as well. They're just... petty and cruel."

"No-one else ever shattered their mind," Merrill counters bitterly. "Made themselves broken and wrong."

"Oh child, you are not broken," the Elder says with a pained sigh.

"Never say that again. Don't even think it," snarls Hawke, her hands trembling as they press against Merrill's body. "They are wrong. If you were so wrong, would I love you? Would Zevran? Would Varric? Would Wynne? You have good people now, people who see your worth. Do not let the [slag-crusted idiots] win."

"Language," Marethari says automatically, then coughs. "Accurate as it may be in this case."

"...you love everyone," Merrill points out, though she's not very firm with her protest. Almost like she wants Hawke to keep arguing, to prove her wrong.

"I don't love Denarius," Hawke points out.

Merrill snorts softly, but she's listening.

"...I love you," Marethari says, somewhat stiffly. "And I assure you, that is not something I often say."

"You're not wrong or broken," Hawke says quietly. "You're not a monster. _That_ was a monster. You're just hurting very badly."

"I don't think right," she replies quietly. "I don't... I'm not... like I should be."

Marethari starts running her fingers through Merrill's hair slowly. "Different is not wrong, my child. When... when we put you back together, we make sure to make you whole. To... make sure your thoughts and mind were purely mortal. Whatever differences you have with typical thought is... not an illness or flaw."

"Helene doesn't think the same way I do either," adds Hawke. "Actually, I'm pretty sure nobody does think quite like me, but, in much the same way you mean, Helene is... different."

"...Helene's nice," Merrill allows. "I like them. But why... why didn't I stop them?" she asks plaintively. "They stated t-talking and I j-just froze. I couldn't... I just..."

"Fear," says Hawke quietly. "I must have asked myself a thousand times over why I didn't move when Bethany died. Why I just stood there and let it happen. Something like that jars you out of your routine and you just... can't. It's like your whole brain grinds to a halt, like someone jammed a sword in your wagon-spoke. You just aren't in control of your body for a few minutes."

"But that's not- That was your family. You're not... like me. . You're better, stronger, you would have stopped them," Merrill insists.

"I would have?" she asks, quietly. "Like I was strong enough to fight off that gem we found in the underdark? Like I was smart enough to avoid getting stabbed? Like I was clever enough to stay out of street gangs? Like I was good enough to protect Sharran? Like I was clever enough to dump Rosemary?"

"But... but you're... those were... different," Merrill says mulishly, though she clearly doesn't have an actual rebuttal to offer.

"They weren't," she says quietly. "You just love me enough to look past my failures, as I love you regardless of the times you were taken hostage or needed me to rescue you."

"You deserve someone better," Merrill insists. "Stronger and... tougher. Cleverer."

"I have someone stronger," she points out. "And someone cleverer. But I want you anyway. Because I love you. Remember? We got handfasted and everything."

Marethari frowns a little, not entirely sure what that response was about but not entirely pleased with it. Or what it implies.

"...why?" Merrill asks softly.

"Because you're amazing," Hawke says, pressing a kiss to Merrill's forehead. "You're wonderful and novel and insightful and fun. And you've always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in me. You taught me to see things differently, to accept the joy and wonder in life, to see the goodness inside people. To trust, when I didn't want to trust anyone ever again. To love, simply and openly, without trying to make things more complicated."

"... I like simple," Merrill says weepily, leaning back into Hawke's embrace again. "I love you, my guiding star. I wish I was stronger for you. But I maybe I can be. Stronger. Better. More like you."

Marethari's slight frown turns to a smile as Hawke speaks, and she continues to comb Merrill's hair with her fingers. "There is nothing wrong with wanting to be better, little one. But be a better Merrill, not a better Hawke. However good she may be, she is not you and you should not be her."

"The world only needs one of me," says Hawke with a small, pained laugh. "But it would be nice if you were... more capable of protecting yourself. In your own way."

"I..." Merrill shrinks in a little. "But shamans don't... I'm not powerful like you," she whispers.

"I know," she says, simply. "Your talents aren't really, smack things around and freeze them kind of talents. But I'm sure you can protect yourself at least enough to get help. I've seen you lay some serious smack down on bad guys before."

"That's Bob. I can't fight myself. I have to depend on him or you or Zevran or... anyone," she says dismissively. Which... is not untrue. A fair bit of a shaman's power is tied up into their spirit animal, but at the same time, that's not the greatest problem with Merrill's combat utility.

"Bob doesn't cast that hungry shadow spell," she says very softly.

Marethari frowns severely and Merrill makes her 'whoops, caught' face. "Ummm."

"I will assume it was cast to save a life without any other recourse available, as you were told when you first found your way to that spell," the Elder says gently, but with an oaken core to her voice.

"Yessum," Merrill mumbles, then squirms a little. "Then... why did... if I'm strong, then why..."

"Because you're afraid," she repeats. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone gets afraid. But you can learn to move through it, and not freeze up."

" _How_?" she demands desperately.

Hawke takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I don't know for sure. All I know is what worked for me." The cautionary preamble given, she turns the matter over in her mind a moment before speaking again. "At first it was... I had to do this thing. I didn't have time to be afraid. You were in danger, or Varric was in danger, or Zevran needed me. So I didn't let myself be afraid. I just focused on the goal and acted. But that didn't... That only worked sometimes. Nowadays.... I recognize the fear, like an old friend, trying to keep me alive. I am grateful to it, a little, because I want to stay alive. But not more than I need to be a hero, to save people. So I recognize the fear and do the thing anyway."

"So... I have to feel it, know what is is, but fight anyway. Make a friend of fear," Merrill says slowly, turning the idea over in her head. Whether this works or not, it's at least helped pull her out of her own darkness.

Hawke nods slowly. "Yeah, I think so. Promise me, love, you won't do anything dangerous without me there?"

Merrill giggles softly, stretching her neck to kiss Hawke on the nose. "Silly, that's _your_ thing, not me. I just... I want to be able to stand by you, not fight liches and demons on my own. To be able to stand up for myself without you holding my hand."

"I'm sorry, liches and demons?" Marethari asks, voice a little high. "What have you been up to, Merrill? You've not mentioned any of this in your letters!" Merrill stiffens a little, a guilty look on her face.

"I'm a hero," says Hawke, simply. "Merrill supports me."

"Against liches and demons?" she demands, not sounding convinced. "Merrill, you said you've fought some thugs, a dirty salesman, some oversized rats and one of Zevran's exes. You never mentioned any of this."

"Ummm, well... Johan was selling, errr, a cult? So he could raise an undead army? And the thugs and rats are much more common?"

Hawke laughs. "Why don't I tell you some stories about Merrill's bravery?"

Before she can finish her first story about the campaign against the Dog Lords, they're interrupted by Aveline. "Hawke... I have three Elders out here that would like to... talk about your actions in the marketplace," she says quietly, before switching to Catfolk. "And I would like to know what I'm covering for you about as well. There were sixteen broken bones in five people back there and I helped you walk away." _Please tell me that I did the right thing. Please tell me you had a good reason for what you did. Please._

Hawke looks guilty, ashamed, as she replies in kind: "I didn't realize I'd gone so... enthusiastically. But these people... they are cruel, and they are willfully blind, and they are thieves. We are leaving as soon as I get Merrill's ribbon back."

"Hawke.. you used powerful magic to hurt a half dozen people," the guardwoman replies, her tone harsh. "A young married couple, an old man, two ladies out for a stroll and the owner of the carving stall. what did _they_ do to Merrill? Did you _see_ them do something? Anything?"

Hawke lowers her gaze, her hands shaking as she releases Merrill. "They hurt her. Badly. She was a puddle of self-hated when I got back to her. I turned my back for a few minutes, just to buy some chestnuts, and I almost lost her. How-- how can that be okay? And nobody saw _anything_? Nobody cared? They just let her..."

Aveline sighs a little before nodding slightly. "You're better than that Hawke. I know you are. But I understand," she adds, quietly, before changing back to Elven. "Merrill... we need to know exactly what happened, starting when Hawke left to when she got back. The other Elders are... very insistent on getting an explanation."

Marethari narrows her eyes. "Are they now?" she mutters. "Invited themselves into my kitchen have they?"

"Please," says Hawke quietly, earnestly, looking up at Merrill. "Please, I need to know."

Merrill is quiet a moment, face pressed against Hawke. "I.. I can't. Not more than- can- will I have to repeat-"

"Yes, I'm sorry. Do... do you want to come out or should I call an Elder back here?" Aveline says quietly. When Merrill attempts to melt her way into the bed and under Hawke, she nods quickly. "Right, here it is."

"Elder Mathuc, if he is present," Marethari says quietly. "We are not friends, but he is even tempered and and patient. He will be fair." Aveline nods again and steps back out of the room.

Hawke bundles Merrill up into her arms again, cradling her close as she waits. A moment later they can hear raised voices, then a sudden silence. A minute passes, then Aveline returns with a half-elf male with long sandy blond hair appear in the doorway. "Lady Sage, Elder Marethari... Lady Merrill. I with this was for a kinder reason, but I offer greetings. I am Elder Marthuc."

"Greetings," replies Hawke, tiredly. "If I may request we begin at once? My wife is quite shaken by her encounter."

"Of course," the male Elder says gently. "Merrill, it is clear, is an innocent in all this. Please, explain what happened at your own pace."

Merrill nods a little, then peeks out over Hawke's shoulder. "I... we were shopping. Just... looking around. I commented about the scent and Hawke... she went to get some roasted chestnuts. The ones in Nyra are never as fresh."

"Of course. Our nut groves _are_ our primary export," he says proudly, voice still gentle. "I'm rather partial to the honey roasted ones myself."

Merrill smiles faintly, though the idea of eating _anything_ right now makes her stomach clench. "I wasn't really paying attention after she left.. just... daydreaming, staring at the fabrics at Jaimison's stall." She swallows hard. "A-a-and then, umm, I felt an arm go around me. I didn't... for a second, I- at first, I th-thought I'd spaced out and it w-was Hawke back already. But then it was pulling me along and it wasn't her and-and..."

Hawke cradles her gently, rocking her a little to comfort her. "I'm so sorry, my love," she whispers.

"Take your time," Marthuc says kindly, seemingly willing to wait until she's ready to continue, even if it takes all night for them to finish.

Merrill does take a moment but soldiers on. "They... they- she, I mean. It was Layla, Melane and Raynara. Ummm. Layla was the one that grabbed me... Or, well, not grabbed but... she pus her arm around my shoulders to kind of push me, I guess? We were sis-" She falls silent, then tries again. "I was... put in her family's care for a year or so. I... she was nice, at first. Then... umm. Not so nice."

Swallowing, Marethari explains quietly, "She convinced Merrill that is was their family rules that each of them take turns doing all the chores and that Merrill owed at least a decade before it was her turn again. But that she would allow her to... catch up by performing errands as well. Stealing mostly. Layla was caught eventually, wearing some of the stolen goods, but her parents insisted it was Merrill's fault."

"Ah. I see, thank you Elder Marethari for the context," he says carefully, eyes hard but voice soft. Hawke hisses something unkind in Catfolk, but doesn't let go of Merrill, not for an instant.

Thankfully, it doesn't appear that any of the elders speak catfolk either. Nuzzling Hawke, Merrill continues. "They, umm, they acted hurt and upset that I when I was confused about it being them. They... they called me M-M-M-"

"An unkind name, an insult that many of the children used to hurt her when she was younger after her accident. The exact name is unimportant," Marethari says crisply, her eyes daring her fellow Elder to object, not that he appears inclined to do so. "Continue after that Merrill."

"Umm, when i tried to... tell that that wasn't my name, they just ignored me. They said that M-Marethari would be d-dissssappointed in how I grow up. I... I tried to protest, to tell them I'm n-not. I... I think I mentioned being married? I wanted... Hawke loves me. She _married_ me. She accepts me. And she's a hero, she's wonderful. I just- if they r-r-realized that someone like my guiding star loves m-me then..."

"Of course I love you," says Hawke, quietly, pressing her head against Merrill's shoulder.

"But it d-d-didn't work, they- when i said it, I didn't get to t-tell them b-before they- they pulled my arm up and saw m-m-mmm-m-y handf-f-fasting ribbon," she stammers, tears welling up again. "I- it had our n-names on it and h-h-her name is Hawke. With an 'e' to end it. B-but they- they said I was sssso stupid I- that I m-must have p-p-p-pretended to m-m-marry a bird." She crying again, the tears pouring from her despite the headache forming from the stress of emotions and dehydration. "And then they took it and left. I just... I just couldn't.... I couldn't."

"I found her in this state," says Hawke, louder, for the Elder's benefit. "It was minutes before I could get a sentence out of her. They knew exactly how to break her down, and I let it happen. I was a fool to trust in the hospitality of this place." It's a bit nippy in here, but the frost hasn't returned yet.

Marthuc closes his eyes for a long moment. "I... I couldn't taste a lie in any of that," he says slowly. "But you still attacked a half dozen people who had nothing to do with this except being in same general area. Extreme emotional duress, yes, but still. They could have died." Merrill goes still in Hawke's eyes, starting at her with wide eyes.

"When I get angry, magic leaks out of me. It always has." Her voice has a hard edge to it. "And make no mistake: this makes me _very_ angry. To find out that nobody claims to have seen a thing? Nobody would offer assistance to my wife when she's in distress?"

"According to the witnesses Elder Briathal spoke with, you called out once to threaten the crowd, demanding they come forward with answers about something, then attacked without provocation," he replies carefully. "Your... lack of control and discipline does not excuse you. In fact, it merely makes you more culpable, not less."

"I had not realized it was not in elven nature to help those clearly afflicted," she snaps.

"Again, according to the witness, none of them realized anything was amiss until you started shouting," he explains. "Only two of them mentioned noticing her and they only saw her standing there alone." He hesitates, then adds, "one of the other shoppers, one that was not affected by your spell did mention that he saw Merrill walking with the three women in question, but didn't think anything was wrong. He said they looked like they were just-"

He breaks off because Bob swoops into the room and lands on the bed. "Milady, your ribbon," he says gravely, lifting the ribbon towards Hawke to retie on Merrill.

Hawke takes the ribbon, turning her attention away from the Elder to tie it around Merrill's wrist. "Good. Then we're leaving. I apologize for cutting our visit short, Elder Marethari, but I will not stay in a place likely to do my wife permanent harm."

"I'm afraid not, Lady zi'Hawke. While those who hurt your wife will be tried, your own actions are a crime as well," Marthuc says gravely.

Aveline stiffens, her eyes closing. _It... it hurts, but he's right._ Merrill doesn't seem to have heard, too caught up in having her handfasting ribbon back.

"Fine. But Merrill and Aveline are leaving. I will not suffer her to be harmed further."

"No!" Merrill shouts. "I will not run away, I won't leave you," she snaps, grabbing Hawke by the chin to make her look at her. "Not for anything."

"This isn't negotiable," she says, her voice firm. "They _hurt_ you, Merrill, and the rest of them did nothing. Nobody here is trustworthy except Marethari."

"Hawke, you can't blame the entire village for the actions of three bitches and the ignorance of two dozen more," Aveline argues.

"I can," Hawke replies. "Who here has lifted so much as a finger? Offered so much as a kind greeting? Looked at my wife with anything but pity or disgust?"

"I won't go out alone if that makes you happy Hawke, but please don't make me run away," Merrill whispers. "Bob will be right with me at all times, right?"

"As you say, mi'lady. Until we return to Nyra, I will not let you out of my sight, for any reason," he promises.

Hawke shakes her head. "You're not running. You're protecting yourself."

"No," Merrill says softly, abandoning arguments to simply insist.

"...there are good people here, Hawke," Marethari says tiredly. "We... we're growing too... inwards. Too... isolated. But there are still good people here. I am sorry that those of cruelty have overshadowed them so greatly."

"It would be nice to meet some of them," she growls.

"Yes, well... " the elder begins before falling silent. "A little late now, I suppose."

"Elder Marethari, will you be standing honor hostage for her parole?" Marthuc asks, getting a nod and "if she asks it of me, yes."

"How does this work? What am I in for?" Hawke sounds tired, glancing over at Aveline. She waits for the woman to make eye contact, then shifts her eyes to the top of her wife's head. _Look after her,_ she seems to plead.

_After both of you but yes. Her first._ Aveline says back with her eyes and a slight nod.

"If you are willing to submit to a truthing, we can probably have things settled tomorrow. After that, the Elders will met and discuss your punishment," Marthuc explains slowly. A truthing- willingly submitting to a truth spell, either a compulsion or a divination. Not a common method, outside of Nyra, but this is an elven village.

"I have nothing to hide," Hawke says, firmly.

"Thank you, that will... make this much easier, on all of us," he replies gratefully. He hesitates, then adds, "if... if nothing else comes to light, given that everyone has recovered already, it... I would suggest offering to pay for the damages and healing, as a sign of... appeasement, if not remorse, before the Elders deliberate. You might be able to reduce your sentencing down to mostly fines and reparations."

"I already offered." _Aveline offered on my behalf. I should have offered._ "That's no trouble."

"Good," he says wearily. "Do either of you have any other questions or...?"

"Am I free to return to my lodgings for the night?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm afraid you'll have to stay here," he says soberly. "Unless you can also host Elder Marethari?"

"Fine. Aveline?" She looks up at Aveline, loosening her grip on Merrill.

"I won't mind doing a bit of camping- Merrill mentioned your tent has room for four? And I rather suspect that means there are _two_ unused beds," Marethari says with a smile, causing Merrill to blush a little.

Hawke tightens her grip again. "Only if Merrill's okay with it."

"Of course, just..." She leans in to whisper very quietly in Hawke's ear, "we have to be very quiet tonight." Aveline rolls her eyes, knowing _exactly_ what Merril is whispering.

Hawke nods. "Then let's go." There's nothing seductive in her tone -- it's like she didn't even hear Merrill.

~*~

The trouble with living in a tent is it's hard to make tea in the middle of the night. To be fair, it's not as late as it seems; it's dark, and it's silent, but it's not really that late. Still. After Merrill is sound asleep, expecting only perhaps Beka to still be awake, Marian makes her way out to the fire pit and stokes the banked coals up again so she can put on a kettle of water from the magically created spring in their grove.

Her hands are shaking. _Sleep won't come tonight. Thank Vangal for Aveline, I'll get a pick-me-up in the morning over breakfast so Merrill doesn't realize._ When she hears the tent flap open behind her, she turns, grabbing a stick to stand in for her staff.

Marethari stills for a moment, letting Hawke see who it is before moving out of the tent properly. "I wanted to let Nayla back inside the house," she comments easily. "If you like, we can go instead and use the stove."

Her shoulders slump. "Sure," she says quietly. _A walk would do me good._

A few minutes later, spirit animal back and restless marbari inside and a pot boiling, the pair are sitting at her table. "...I'm sorry this all turned out this way," Marethari says quietly, staring at her hands.

"It's not your fault." Hawke sighs, running a hand through her hair. _Sixteen broken bones._

"It feels like it is," the Elder replies. "This is my village, my home. I'm an Elder here, have been for eighty years. If there are... flaws, evils, in my home... are they not my fault?"

Hawke sighs. "I knew what we were in for. But the idea of seeing you made Merrill so happy, I... I shouldn't have left her alone."

"You shouldn't have had to watch her. This should have been a safe place... " She sags a little. "I should have said something. I should have said a lot of things. Even before her accident, she was never really, entirely welcome by the village. It broke my heart to send her away but... it was what she needed."

"What happened?" asks Hawke quietly. "She never talks about her life before we met."

"No, I suspect she wouldn't. She doesn't talk about it with me, and I lived much of it with her." She rises to finish up the tea. "Merrill was a foundling, found barely two years old in an empty hunting camp three miles from the village. No-one ever came forward for her. Unfortunately, there wasn't anyone in the village looking to adopt, so she was made an ward of the Elders instead, fostered for a time with whoever could spare the time and attention for a year or two."

She sets the tea mix in to seep, head bowed over the pot. "It's not perfect, we all know it, but she seemed happy enough. Took to calling every adult aunt and uncle, unless their hair was white- then it was gran and grampa. When she turned... eleven, I think it was, she started... she started to act differently than the other children. Talking to people that weren't there. The children just thought her strange, but eventually one of our druids noticed and realized she was simply a natural shaman.

"But she was so very young, not even fifteen yet. Far too early for any real schooling, so it was decided to wait. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Merrill from seeking out the spirits on her own. A few years after she was noticed, she... she said later that she remembers trying to hear the voice of the sky behind the clouds but in front of the stars. I... I think she was hearing the moon's spirit. Which... no-one has ever done or even tried really, the spirit of something so... vast and yet... focused and real would..." Marethari sighs as she gets out a tray to load with honey crystals and mugs. "It broke her mind. It took us months to bring her back enough to even talk."

Hawke is quiet for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is tender, pained. "People say I love everyone, but they're wrong. My wife, my sweet, wonderful wife, loves everyone. Trusts everyone. It's gotten her hurt a few times, hurt badly. The most recent... she was abducted, stolen away to some strange plane, with no way home, because she trusted her friend not to hurt her." She swallows, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. "I don't want to lose her. I don't want her to stop being my precious Merrill. And I can't abide anyone hurting her."

Marethari closes her eyes, fighting back the pain of her failure. "After... afterwards. She was... foundlings are not considered lucky but she was a bright girl, and warm. She had been welcomed, even if none wished to adopt her in full. But after... it made her different. The handful of families that would volunteer to watch her, the two that were, tentatively considering perhaps taking her in for true after her gift of shamanism was found... that went away. No-one wanted the girl without... boundaries. Who would ask any question, say any thought."

She takes a moment to gather herself, then brings the tea tray over, though she cannot quite look Hawke in the eye. "I'll admit that she... unnerved me as well. To speak with spirits with the sheer ease she did, as if she could truly not tell the difference between us and them... it wasn't right." A faint smile, more regretful than pleased crosses her face. "Of course, her asking me in the middle of the street whether I'd ever had sex and was it good to eat didn't endear her to me. But... in time... watching her be shunted from family to family, never losing hope, always, always trying to be loved. .. I just.. Elders cannot adopt but there was no law preventing me from having a spare bedroom." She swallows. "I... I do not think I shall ever forgive myself for how long it took me to take that step."

Hawke nods slowly. "There's a dwarf I know. A gruff loner type. Doesn't want a wife, never wanted kids. His brother's family enough for him, and he kind of hates the [jackass]. He runs a business, and invests in several others, with a bit of adventuring on the side. His life was pretty much complete: he had everything he needed, and he enjoyed his work."

She smiles, fondly. "But then, this little waif of a girl turns up on his brother's doorstep looking for work. He hints he might have a job for her, and she mistakes his meaning, thinking he runs a brothel... and accepts anyway. He sets her to doing paperwork, and finds out she's got a good head for numbers, so he makes her do the books and pays her more than she's worth -- girl's skinny, not eating enough. Then one day she comes in with a black eye and won't tell him where she got it. The whole room starts freezing over with leaky magic, but she won't say a word, just keeps her head down and works like nothing's wrong. Turns out, this girl's own brother blacked her eye over some stupid fight about money. Her mother, her brother, her uncle, all blame her for every ill that's befallen her, starting with the death of her sister and ending with being a mage -- something they see as shameful. A few months later, her brother stabs her and she almost dies. Suddenly, this dwarf who never wanted any more family, he finds himself with a spare room and elven-scale furniture just lying around unused. Waiting."

"He sounds like a very good man," Marathari says softly, almost wistfully. _A better man than I was and am._ "And I'm very glad that little waif of a girl met him. The world needs more of such meetings."

Hawke nods. "I couldn't not love Merrill. I met her, and I saw her goodness, and I fell head over heels. I can't not protect her when she's suffering."

"Good. She's suffered enough, she deserves to have someone that will protect her, regardless of the cost or expectations of those around them," Marethari says firmly as she pours them both their tea.

Marian waits, taking her mug when offered and taking a slow sip. "I wish... it were possible to ensure she'd never be hurt like that again."

"Wish granted," Marethari says with a faint smile. "By you, not me. As long as you love her as you do now, she can never be hurt like that again. Not really."

Marian gives a small, sad smile. "No. There's one thing that can hurt her like that." _Losing me._

"Then never stop loving her," Marethari says simply, almost but not quite guessing what they one thing is. "As long as she has that, she'll be okay. Our Merrill... she never gave up on love or hope, not even after decades of having almost none of either. Now that she has you, has that... she'll be fine."

"Someday I will die," the hero replies, her voice hoarse, soft. "I'm a hero; I'm a half-elf. Either way, she will outlive me. I.. worry, so much, at night, about the day I will have to leave her."

Marethari doesn't even try to hide the flinch those words invoke. "...death... death does not stop love. Not unless you let it," she says just as hoarsely. She's quiet a moment before admitting out loud what she's known for months now. "I... I suspect I only have a year at most left. I'm not ill, just... old." She smiles faintly. "Three hundred and ninety-two is long even for an elf, so it shouldn't be a surprise and yet... It's hard for me to say the words. Or even... I was never... expressive. And with age, that reserve grew, along with a certain degree of... detachment. But I am glad to have had Merrill. I do... love her. And death will not take that from me, nor from her."

"I don't know if she'll understand that," whispers Hawke. "I'm glad she's had you. I'm glad someone was there to keep her together when she needed it."

"Does... your friend- Aveline, wasn't it? Is... does Merrill have more friends? Perhaps that, ah, grumpy dwarf?" Marethari asks, hope in her voice.

Hawke nods. "Varric will look after her, I know. And Wynne. And Aveline. And Zevran. I'm sure... I'm sure it'll be fine. But at night, alone, I worry."

Marethari smiles then. "Good. That's... good." She pauses then, her smile growing a little exasperated and a little fond. "I do wonder however... which of those names are Bright Moon, Sister Lawful, Gamma and Selly? I assume that Papa Grump is the dwarf you mentioned..."

Hawke smiles, a warm, open smile of affection. "Lawful is Aveline. The moon is Zevran. Seli is someone else, another good friend. Wynne must be Gamma."

"So you know all of them? The moon- I mean, Zevran and all the rest?" the elder asks, suddenly a little wary.

"They are my Clan," she says quietly. "I may have been born an elf, but I am as much a Dwarf culturally now as an Elf. I have forged bonds with the people I love."

_I hope I'm reading her letters right, about her Stars loving her Moon just as much as they love their Flower._ "Then I am pleased for you- and for her. And so deeply relieved. It... knowing she will be taken care of allows me to wait without regrets. Thank you."

"I am glad," she says quietly. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"About Merrill, Golden Green or your trial?" Marethari asks as she sips her tea.

"About anything," she says with a sigh. "It seems I'm always playing catch-up."

"Well.. about your trial- there are seven elders. I think Marthuc was mostly won over earlier. I, of course, plan to argue for leniency. The other five... well, if you continue to pledge your intention to pay for damages and perhaps for suffering, I think you might be able to sway Duillia as well. I do not expect you to feel... regret for defending Merrill, nor for feeling rage at how she was treated, but if you can muster remorse for their pain..." She pauses in thought. "Absolute worse case, everyone but me against you and no restitution made, your crime would see you imprisoned for a decade. As it is, the worst I see is a year and banishment. Or perhaps a geas to prevent you from using magic for double that time instead of imprisonment, if you allow that instead." An involuternary geas would be far too resources intensive to be made to last a fraction of that time, but if Hawke not only allowed it but anchored it with her own magic and will, it would be feasible enough. "If- if you make restitution and speak well under the truthing... you might be able to avoid jail but... it's only just barely possible. It would take much to get that to come to pass."

"Binding my magic is likely a death sentence." Hawke says this matter-of-factly. "I'm a hero, and there are those who would depose me the hard way from my Lightship. Banishment is no trouble -- I meant it when I said we're not coming back here."

"I can't really blame you... Golden Green... is not the village I grew up in. Closed off and overly proud of how... independent it is. Hah. As if we'd last long where it not for the trade agreements we have with Nyra. Or more, if we lacked their protection." She snorts loudly. "Damned stiff-necked fools, the lot of them. Duillia and I have been arguing to call in aid, as our treaty allows, for weeks now but only Marthuc is even willing to listen." She sighs a little. "Try not to say that you don't care about banishment. Let them think it's a painful price."

"Aid?" she asks, quietly. _No. Hawke, let it go. Don't get yourself involved. These people aren't worth the pick it'd take to mine them, don't..._ "Is there a problem?"

Marethari just smiles a little. "You recall the hippogriffs I have lurking about? They normally live in the largest clearing in the woods around here- they're hunters, as raptors, but also need grass as a horse does. A young green dragon has pushed them out however, probably seeking a lair now that it's old enough to hold one. She doesn't have any interest in the town and the hunting there was never the best so most don't really care. And, in fairness, she won't be a concern for another... two hundred years or so but..." She sips her tea. "It's not really an issue yet, and Duillia and I will get Marthuc to admit the nut harvests aren't the only resource we need with a little more work. You need to focus on your trial. Arguing that it's not your fault because you can't control your magic moves you from a killer to a wild danger. Which is... better but not close to ideal."

The Light sighs. "I've killed dragons before. If this hadn't happened.... I would probably have volunteered. Don't let Merrill know about it, or she might try just to prove herself."

"I think she has enough on her mind," the Elder replies softly. "Though I doubt she would- she's never really been the type to be an adventurer."

"No," she says, a little sadly, a little bitterly. "But I am. And she wants me to love her, forgetting that I already do."

She nods then, sadly. "That.. that is far too true. The thieving with that little bitch Layla was not the first time she was taken advantage of by someone that realized she would do anything to gain acceptance and love." Her jaw twitches and her eyes glitter venomously. "That... I have only one, in all my a hundred and elven years as an Elder argued for someone to be hung instead of killed asleep, painlessly."

Hawke lets out a long breath, the temperature in the kitchen dropping as she does, as if she breathes winter into the room. She doesn't speak, but she sips her tea, trying to calm herself.

"As cruel and pretty as she and her friends can be, I cannot entirely hate Melane. She was the one that saw him talking to Merrill, his hand on her arm, and thought it strange enough to tell someone," Marethari says softly, lost in her memories. "He'd just convinced her to come back to his house to... play dress up when Melane lead her uncle and his partner back to them. I told Merrill she was to stay with me whenever she got lonely the next day, no matter how busy I was. I should have realized simply giving her a room here wouldn't... it is just so hard for me to..."

"Stop," Marian croaks, her voice a bare whisper. "Please." Her tea is ice cold, a layer of frozen tea across the top, but she can't seem to get her bearings, can't get her balance under her.

Marethari glances up then, her eyes widening slightly as what she sees. She swallows a moment, mind casting about for- "She made me a dress once. Her first, I suspect, given the results. It was after we'd gone for a walk one afternoon and saw some pixies flying about. She loved their colors and glow, so she made us both pixie dresses. Awful thing really, a riot of color fighting itself. Uneven hems and mismatched sleeves. I still have it in my wardrobe." She smiles faintly, eyes worried. "I plan to ask to be buried in it, just to make the other elders give their speeches while wearing cloaks of matching color as is traditional."

A smile plays across Hawke's face, though the temperature only warms slightly. "She loves to sew," she whispers. "She's brilliant with it now."

"She mentioned she made her own wedding dress. And what you and she were both wearing. She really is," Marethari agrees, slowly relaxing. "We spend many a long evening in the living room working on projects as something an old woman and a young girl could do together. I'm pleased she stayed with it."

Slowly, listening to the Elder, breathing deeply, Hawke gets herself under enough control that the room begins to warm. "Sorry," she whispers, closing her eyes.

"Think nothing of it, Hawke. More tea?" she asks gently.

"Please," she says, with a small nod. _She must think me a monster, lashing out at everyone around me. But I can't, my poor heart can't stand to hear of Merrill hurt like that._

She rises to poor them both another mug, pausing to rest a hand on Hawke's shoulder. "When that man was brought before us, and I heard his crime, I came very close to choking him to death myself. I had the grass tangled around his chest, reaching for his throat before I stopped myself. And even then, it was the shouting of others that jarred me back."

Hawke nods, sipping her tea. When she puts the mug down, the room is... almost back to a routine temperature. "This thing..." she whispers, quietly. "This, she understands, at least. She... has seen how... " She falls quiet again, taking a long breath. "She understands betrayal better now."

"I... I am both glad and heartbroken," Marethari says after retaking her seat.

Hawke nods again. "I will fight... I swore long ago, I would protect her. I would do everything in my power to slow the loss of that innocence. I think.... I pray, it is truly as resistant as it seems. But I fear waking up one day to a world where Merrill is no longer herself. Where she cannot find the joy in life, cannot trust strangers."

Marethari smiles. "A good promise. And one both easy and hard to keep, I would suspect. She has a curiously strong soul. She... suffers and grieves perhaps easily and certainly deeply, but she also heals and regains her smile much the same."

Hawke nods. "I have tried to understand how she does it, but the secret eludes me."

"I sometimes wonder if it is not an apology for the suffering she had, for how her gift became a danger to her," the elf muses. "But she has ever been this way. Smiling after every blow and pain, as if she just... decided to be happy. Not pretend, not try, but _be_."

Hawke drinks from her tea. _My beloved flower..._

"When she was younger, she used to give us fits. She'd run about in the rain, naked as a jaybird, claiming that she was playing tag. We realize how she was playing- with the spirits of the water, of the forest, the village and even the storm. At the time however, she was just a happy ten year old, laughing and shouting as she played." The elder smiles a little. "On one occasion I can recall, when she was sixteen- four for merikos- she managed to convince a dozen of the other children to play with her. None of them got so much as a sniffle either."

Hawke smiles. "I bet she'll love being a mother," she says, softly. _I hadn't realized how much I was looking forward to that too -- with Merrill's child._

"M-m-mother!" Merrill squeaks from the doorway, her eyes wide despite the glaze of sleep still lingering in them.

Hawke puts down the mug immediately, turning to stand and move toward Merrill. "Merrill! I was just -- are you alright, did you have a nightmare?"

"Mother?" the younger elf repeats. Marethari covers her mouth with her mug as she watches this with great interest.

"Not anytime soon," she reassures, taking Merrill's hands. "I-- I was just hearing how you were as a child, picturing what... " Now she blushes a bit, giving a dopey smile. "What we might make together."

"Yes, okay," she says, nodding quickly. "Yes please."

A little behind Merrill, Aveline chuckles softly, though Bob, hiding above them lets out a groan. _Children... messy, grabby, tail-pulling children... wonderful._

"Then we will. Sooner or later." Hawke brings Merrill's hand up to her lips. _When I'm out of prison, my love._

Merrill nearly melts against Hawke. "Do you want to come back to bed? For more, umm, sleep?" she asks hopefully, fooling no-one.

"Of course, my love." _My last night with you for perhaps a decade -- I can think of worse ways to spend it._

Merrill beams at her, hooking arms to tug her back to the tent. _A dragon... if I can get rid of her, maybe even befriend her.... that would prove I'm wort- that Hawke doesn't deserve to be in jail. With that kind of service, they'll have to let my Star wander free. But for tonight... I want to love my wife._


	12. "Am I a monster?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke comes to terms with her PTSD, then goes on trial for her actions during a flashback.

That night, neither of them get much more sleep. In the morning, Marian bathes and dresses herself, bringing a bowl of oats to Aveline before making puppy-dog eyes at her. "Do you mind?" she asks quietly, checking to see that Merrill is still bathing before she asks.

Aveline frowns at her, confused for a second, then sighs. "You know the price," she replies, taking her hand to refresh the merikos before gesturing at the side of the cot. Glancing at the door to her room, she stretches out to close it most of the way so they won't be overheard. "What kept you up?"

"Am I a monster?" Hawke asks, quietly, as she sits, pulling her knees to her chest.

"...you're powerful. Power can turn anyone into a monster," Aveline says slowly. "Varric, Zevran... me. Any one of us could be a monster, a very terrible one. What keeps that from happening is... what you do with it. You... you crossed a line yesterday, Hawke. Not very far, not a... deep line, but a line. You need to learn how to control your magic, even when you can't control your temper."

"I didn't care to try," the half-elf says, quietly. "I saw them hurt her and I decided... their lives weren't worth hers. They stopped being people for me, for a few minutes. It terrifies me."

"As a guard... we're taught that every crime is equal to every other crime of that nature. That... theft is theft, regardless of who stole and who was stolen from. But it isn't. Stealing from a healthy adult with a good job and a loving family isn't as... evil as stealing the last two coppers from a homeless child. Merrill... her soul is so... pure and loving... hurting her is worse somehow, even with it shouldn't be." The paladin's voice is thoughtful as she tries to put this into words. "As a paladin, I was taught to protect the innocent above all else. Sometimes, both sides are innocent. In those cases, it can be hard, trying to figure out how to act. I don't know if there's a right answer, but... I can't really see a time when 'protect Merrill' is a bad choice." Aveline gives Hawke a steady look. "What you did wasn't protection though. It was revenge. Ju- Punishment, chastisement, at best. It is... acceptable, understandable to feel that way. You love her. But you cannot take action based on those feelings."

She nods, looking at her knees instead of up at Aveline. "I honestly didn't mean to hurt them. But it burned me up inside knowing they'd all stood there and watched while... Aveline, I thought she'd been assaulted, or worse. And nobody helped her? Nobody lifted a finger to stop it? Nobody would so much as let me know?"

"And they should be shamed for that- punished for it even. But what you did was too much, unmeasured and... wild," she says gently, reaching over to pull Hawke close.

Hawke tugs away, looking at the tent wall. _She doesn't believe me either._

Aveline frowns, studying Hawke for a moment. "...accident or not, it was your action," she says after a moment. "I don't think you would have done it if you'd... been able to think it over clearly."

"I would have thought you--" She sighs. _You, of all people, should know I can't control it. No, don't keep it in. Openness, honesty, trust._ "Given how we met, I never thought you wouldn't believe me about this."

"Hawke... it's not that I don't believe you about not being able to stop yourself from casting in your rage," Aveline says, as gently as she can make her harsh words. "But... that doesn't mean it's not still your fault. If I'm walking around with a crossbow and I drop it, causing the bolt to fire and hit someone... it's an accident, but one I'm to blame for. Lesser, but still serious. Is... does that make sense?"

"But I can't not walk around with a loaded crossbow! It's, it's like it's grafted to my arm or something," she stammers out. "I can't help what--" As she turns to glare at Aveline, her face goes pale, her eyes wide. A moment later, she's stammering to her feet, tearing out of the room in a rush.

Aveline lunges at her, fully intending to simply tackle her to the ground before she can get out of the room. She hits the ground hard -- it's like she wasn't even trying to break her fall. Once down, she pulls herself in as tightly as she can toward her core, shuddering violently. Aveline curls around her, not subduing but rather cuddling, protecting. "Hawke, what's wrong? Hawke, talk to me," she snaps out.

"I can't, I can't," she whispers, tears flowing hot and fast down her cheeks.

"Hawke, it'll be okay, just talk to me," Aveline whispers as she twists to they're both on their sides. "I love you, Hawke. I will not leave you for this, I swear it."

"You should," she says, bitterly. A moment later, she pushes away from Aveline again, but the reason is clear a moment later as she dry-heaves violently, her shakes increasing. While Hawke is... preoccupied, Aveline quickly looks around, trying to see if she can figure out what she'd seen behind her that had triggered her panic. Or... or if there's nothing, had Hawke seen something in her expression? What? She means her words, means her pledge to to abandon her.

When she's done, Hawke lets out a soft moan, sitting back onto her heels. _Get it together, Hawke. Think it through. What does this change? About the situation, not yourself. What's most important?_ "Merrill," she whispers aloud, answering herself. _What changes about Merrill?_ "You have to get her back to Nyra."

"Hawke, you're not explaining- what changed? Why are you bringing this up again?" Aveline asks, confused, as she rises to kneel along with Hawke.

_Honesty. Openness. Trust. You can't go hiding things now, as painful as they are._

_She won't understand._

_No, she won't. But try anyway. Isn't that the point of Clan?_ She shudders, wiping at her face with both hands to try and dry her tears -- a futile effort. "I can't control my magic," she whispers. "It's not safe to be around me."

Aveline sighs. "Hawke, the absolute last person, even more than yourself, that should be afraid of any part of you is Merrill. Even if you froze the entire world in a sheet of eternal ice, Merrill would be untouched. And probably surrounded by beautiful ice sculptures or something. I'm not trying to belittle your concern. This is serious but... it's not something we can't fix. That we will fix."

 _I wouldn't do that,_ she'd shouted at Carver, furious. _I would never do something like that!_

 _Don't you understand?!_ he'd screamed back at her. _You won't be able to help yourself! Magic changes a person, compromises them!_

Hawke shakes her head, wrapping her arms back around her stomach. "Please," she whispers, brokenly.

"Hawke... Hawke, listen to me," Aveline says firmly, reaching to cup her face so she has to look directly at the paladin. "Are you hearing me? Not your doubts, your fears, but me?"

She hesitates. _HONESTY,_ Screams her inner Tethras-self. She shakes her head. _No, I'm not hearing you right now. But... this is more important, can't you see that?_

"I'm sorry," Aveline says with a sigh. Then slaps Hawke across the face with a full open-handed blow.

Hawke blinks at her, through the tears, her hand gently coming up to touch her cheek. "....Aveline?" she whispers.

"Are... are you hearing me? Not your doubts, your fears, but me?" Aveline repeats, voice quavering only a little, eyes only a little wet.

She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I'll try," she whispers.

Aveline leans in to gently kiss Hawke. "You can learn. You will learn. Your magic is part of you, just like my hand. It can be trained. Learn how to... vent safely. Focus the magic into a safer outlet, something that won't hurt anyone. I'll help you. So will Wynne and Varric."

She doesn't kiss back, pulls away after a heartbeat. "Wynne and Varric were helping me. Years ago. It's not getting better, Aveline. I learned to control it as well."

"It's not- Hawke, has this ever happened before?" she asks. "Not have you ever gotten anger and attacked someone or has your magic ever frosted some things or caused a bit of snow- have you ever lost control to the point were you cast without meaning to?"

"Yes," she whispers.

 _It... has?_ "When?" the Paladin asks gently.

Hawke is about to answer, but instead, she gives a sickly smile and rattles off a date -- for three years in the future.

Aveline frowns, her jaw tightening for a moment. "Fuck it. I've already been- Tell me now. I need to know to help you. I don't care what you did," she demands.

The heroine flinches then, looking at the tent floor. _I've already begun corrupting Aveline. How could I be so stupid?_ "They came for Zevran," she whispers. "Merrill got there first. She... No, I can't tell you that part, only my own." She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I became someone I used to be, someone I didn't want to be again. I thought I had to kill to protect her, so I did. Varric stopped me, everyone lived," she assures Aveline in a hurry. "But Zevran needed me. And Merrill needed me. And I didn't have enough left for myself too. Zevran spoke to me like.. like I was his master. I lost control, cast a storm of sleet into the room. That was the first time."

Aveline nods, the movement a little jerky. "Alright. The next time now," she says carefully, voice tight but ironclad.

"Later that day. You were there," she says curtly, remembering: _The winter is ripped out of her; in an instant, the room fills with a sudden snowstorm, obscuring vision in a whirl of snow even as it slicks the ground with ice._

"I was... there? When?" Aveline asks, confused. "I don't know when the first day occurred so 'later that day' doesn't mean anything."

"Hadriana," Hawke whispers. "That was the person who came for Zevran."

Hadriana... right, the fight in the basement. She... "The snow storm in the basement," she murmurs. "So... three times?"

She shakes her head. "Four. When I fought Justice, the same thing happened."

"Justice?" Aveline asks, starting to feel a bit miffed at how much is evidently going on behind her back. Even if she had told them do to it.

"Anders' demon." she clarifies. "Or, not demon, the piece of his psyche that... I can't tell you that story either," she remembers.

"Okay. So... we have... when you were chasing down slavers that were coming to recapture the man you love and saw the woman you love... guessing, but doing some rough questioning most likely. Then later that very same day, when you find said slaver, whom you know used to have... access to the man you love standing naked over a naked and whipped bloody slave. And finally while... fighting the... personification of another man you loved's negative side who hurt you because of said personification." She pauses a moment, then adds, "Oh, and yesterday, when you thought that the woman you love, the most innocent and... gentlest of all of your loves and whom has already been kidnapped twice, had been assaulted, possibly sexually, in public and no-one had helped her. Is that right?"

Hawke nods, a small, miserable nod.

"Hawke. Okay. One? I'm going to find you a priest to talk too, one that works with helping soldiers and guards deal with traumatic events. There are retired elves and dwarves on the guard that haven't suffered even a tenth of the pain and anguish you have in the six years you've been a hero." She says this gently, leaning in so she can brush a kiss on Hawke's lips. "You can go to the same one I do, or I'm sure he can recommend someone."

She nods, swallowing, not expecting to ever go back to Nyra. Right now, her plan is to get Aveline to look after Merrill, make it through this trial, and when her sentence is up... vanish. _No, they'll be waiting for me. I may have to vanish from the prison, before I'm let out. Focus, Hawke. She said one, what's two?_ She looks up, sheepish, trying to show she's doing her best to listen.

Aveline lowers her hand, giving Hawke a pointed glare. "Listen to _me_ Hawke, not the d- the evils whispering doubts and foolishness in your head." Giving that a beat to sink in, she continues. "Two. You're a genius. Breathtakingly smart, the likes of which I've never seen before, not really. But you can be a real dumbass sometimes.

"Hawke, in each and every of those times your magic got away from you, it was because one of your most beloved was being hurt, was being threatened, and you couldn't help them. Even the battle with Hadriana- you were helpless to stop the pain she'd caused to Zevran in the past. So your magic lashes out, trying to fight something, anything. It never hurts them- remember? When you cast in the basement, I was in the middle of it- but it was just sleet and snow. I wasn't hurt. Your magic is part of you and you'd not hurt me," she says simply. "You need help coming to term with your pain, but for the magic? You just need better ways to react when you're helpless. Ways to... guide your instincts to do something that allow you to vent without harming someone."

The half-elf takes a deep breath. "You're sure? I wouldn't hurt you? I didn't know that spell I used today back then."

"You didn't hurt me now," the guardswoman says softly. "You're upset, panicking and tried to run. I tackled you to the ground, pinned you. Then I slapped you. And you haven't so much as dropped a snowflake on me."

Hawke winces. "I never protect myself," she adds, with a rueful hint of a smile. "If someone else were in danger..."

"You still wouldn't harm me. The only- the absolute only way I can see you ever hurting me, even instinctively, is if I attacked Merrill. Or maybe Seli or your godtwins," she adds. "The gentle ones, the ones that deserve the first protection. And I ever did, I'd fucking well want you to shove an icicle up my arse."

Hawke chokes on a laugh. "Y-you always know how to ch-cheer me up," she stammers.

Aveline flushes a little, glancing away. "I... well... I may have. not there of course, but... well, my training and Vangal's blessing has made me immune to normal cold and even some weak ice spells so... that wouldn't... " She coughs. "Anyway."

Hawke takes Aveline's hand then, the first she's moved _toward_ her since her revelation. "It's alright. I know what you meant."

Aveline, still blushing, gives her a sideways look. "Have... have you ever... done that?"

She shakes her head. "No," she says quietly. "Ice is for when I'm unhappy."

"Would... would you want to? To... make happy memories of ice?" Aveline offers. Despite her blush surging back, her voice and eyes are steady. "I... as I said, I have.. thought of it, idly, a time or two. It... might be... interesting."

Hawke studies Aveline's face. "Can we... discuss it later?" she asks, quietly.

"Of course, I just... wanted to say before I lost my nerve or... forgot," she says, ducking her head. "How are you... how's your thinking?"

"Not great," she admits, sheepishly. "But... better than it was." She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "You really think I have... Battle Fatigue?"

"Yes. Thrice over or more. I.. I should have thought of this ages ago. It would probably be a good idea for Merrill and Zevran to talk to someone as well," she says instantly. "I- after... after Wesley, I went to a therapist. But as soon as the mandated three months were over, I refused to keep going." Aveline smiles wanly. "I voluntarily resumed after I started... watching you attack the ground, walls and yourself with a sword. I... needed to talk to someone about all the emotions I was feeling about... you. And how that reopened things I'd thought I'd closed off forever. The only one I was close to then was, well, you, and that seemed... awkward, given you were the cause."

She nods, slowly. "Zevran sees someone as well. I was... worried about him, for a time, and it seems to be helping. But, nothing in my life is as bad as all that."

"Hawke, you died."

The twice-lived hero flinches. "I got better," she says, quietly.

"Yes, but that's still pretty terrible. You've been possessed, stabbed by your family, nearly eaten by a dragon, had to wrest your future wife back from some kind of body-stealing alien, raped, lost family- twice, died, watched your father basically die, and had to hold at least... four? Five maybe? wounded souls together long enough for them to heal. And that's not counting all the random fights you've gotten into. You might not have spend a decade as a slave, but that doesn't mean your life has been easy." Overcome by the list she just gave, she pulls Hawke in for a hug. "Fuck."

Hawke clings to Aveline, tears dripping onto her shoulder. "It wasn't.." she begins, softly. "None of it felt that bad at the time." _Only after, when I've had terrible nightmares, stayed up all night from time to time afraid to go to sleep, had to hold myself together for Merrill's sake..._ "But I don't sleep often," she admits.

"Adrenaline is a wonderful, horrible thing. It keeps you alert, keeps you moving. But it also dulls pain, physical and otherwise. It's only later that the aches can be felt," Aveline agrees, gently rubbing Hawke's back.

She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. I have to... I have to stand trial, first," she says, softly.

"I know," the paladin says softly. "But we'll get through that, just like everything else we've faced."

Hawke nods, slowly. "No matter what, protect Merrill?"

"If you... are forced to stay here, I'll bring her back to Nyra myself... long enough to tell Varric and, like as not, escort them both back here to live until they let you go," she replies wryly.

"Tell her to look after Zevran. He can't move out here, he has his work, and I can't protect his heart while I'm locked up here." _And it will keep her from throwing herself on that blade for me._

"He'll have Helene and Seli and his work while you'll be in jail. Who do you think she'll decide needs you more?" she asks pointedly. "And besides, that's not a problem we need to deal with now. Let's focus on the trial itself, alright?"

"I'm not... truly as worried for him," she says quietly. "Make her believe it, if you can. I would not.... I would not like to see what a year or more in this place would lead her to become." She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Thank you," she says, after a moment. "I needed you today."

Aveline purses her lips, then smirks. "I'll see if I can delay her at least. Give Varric time to... soften things up here. I'd put diamonds on coppers that he makes them beg to free you within two months at most."

She shakes her head. "If I can't get free by telling the truth, I don't deserve to be freed." She presses a kiss to Aveline's cheek.

"I don't disagree but I'm not perfect. Selfish and lesser of me, but I don't want to be without you for even a few months, much less a year," Aveline admits. "If nothing else, we should be able to get you transferred to Nyra so we can visit without coming back to... this place."

"That I'll accept," she agrees.

Leaning on Aveline more than she's comfortable admitting, she gets to her feet, and the pair head out of the tent. It strikes her for a moment that it's been a while since Merrill went to bathe, and she half-wonders if the girl is eavesdropping again. But they don't run into her in the tent, or out in the glade. She's no longer bathing in the spring, and she's not walking Beka, since the dog is lounging near the campfire.

"...where's Merrill?"

Ten minutes of furiously searching reveals no Merill... but it does reveal a map open to a certain location- the clearing in the center of the forest. And if that were not enough, Merrill's backpack is gone, along with the best cuts of meat and all their travel coin.

"How, how did she find out," curses Marian, as she grabs her staff. "We have to move fast if we're going to catch up."

Aveline doesn't say a word, just whistles for Beka as she kneels with a handful of the elf's smallclothes for scent.

"Hawke, are you sure about this? If you go after her, you won't make it back for your trial. They'll never-" Marethari cuts off at the look on Hawke's face. "Good. Alright then. I'll need one of you to carry me, I won't be able to keep up on my own," she warns them before twisting into the shape of a long snake of mottled emerald and brown.

Hawke picks up the snake, draping it around her neck. "She got the scent?" she asks, brusquely.

Beka riffs softly, casting about at the edges of the clearing. "Yes," Aveline says curtly. "Where-" She cuts off, seeing a snake around Hawke's neck and making the logical (for a Nyrian) leap as to where Marethari went. "Ready?"

Hawke nods, moving toward Beka as she does. Beka finds the freshest scent quickly, and they head out, but they never arrive at the clearing. Sitting on a rock, no more than half the way there, is Merrill. She's got her arms wrapped around her knees and looks perfectly unharmed. Pensive, really. She doesn't turn to look at them as they rush into the clearing, just says quietly, "This would have been my alley, wouldn't have been?"

"Alley?" asks Hawke, moving toward her slowly.

"Dragons are bigger then gems but... scary and pretty somehow as well," she explains. "I.. I wanted to save you. Prove myself. But... that would have just hurt you even more than jail. Even if I didn't die."

Hawke gives up the pretense of being sneaky, then, and hurries toward her, bundling her up in her arms. "Gods, Merrill..." she whispers, holding her tightly.

Merrill starts to cry softly as she squirms enough to free her arms to hold her back. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I just wanted to save you for once."

"You save me every day," she whispers, tears clouding her vision. "Merrill, don't you understand by now? You-- without you, I would be... I would be a monster. Varric would have had to put me down years ago if I didn't have you to teach me how to keep loving people."

"And you save me the same way. I'd still be alone and... empty without you," she whispers back. "Probably wasted away in a ditch, so lost the whispers in my head that I stopped caring about my body."

Hawke lets go then, reaching up to brush some hair off her face. "No debts between us, remember? You save me and I save you. We're partners. Wives. You don't have anything to prove to me."

"...what about to myself?" the shaman asks weakly. "I need.. I need to know, for myself, that I'm good enough for you. Strong enough."

Hawke strokes her cheek, gently. "Open a dress shop," she says, softly. "Prove to yourself that you can do something without my help. Something you would have wanted to do even if you didn't meet me."

"Something... something of my own," she says slowly, her mind drifting back to conversations she's had with Seli. "Something... to help people like you but... mine."

Hawke nods. "Whatever you do, you'll be brilliant," she says quietly. "But... for now, we need to head back."

"Head- oh! Hawke, your trial?" Merrill asks, eyes wide as she glances up at the sun. "Even if we run, we'll never make it back in- oh spirits, I just made it _worse_ ," she cries out in distress.

Marethari slithers off from around Hawke's neck, shifting back once she's on the ground. "I'm still with her so we might be able to argue that-"

She's cut off by a loud roar and the sound of powerful wings beating the air.

"...gods damnit Hawke," Aveline mutters to herself. "This is the second dragon I've fought and both with you."

"How do you think _I_ feel? This is my fifth!"

~*~

The bedraggled party drags their way back to the village, Hawke supporting Marethari while dragging the dragon's goddamn head on the ground with the other arm after her. Even Merrill was banged up still, despite Hawke instructing Aveline to use the last of her heals to help the girl get back on her feet. Hawke's dress was covered in blood, her hair matted back to her skull, but bathing would make her later, and the last thing she wants to be is late to her own damn trial.

"Prison doesn't sound so bad. There won't be dragons in prison, right?" she asks, tiredly, as they approach.

"If there are, I'm leaving," Bob comments from atop Beka. The mabari is surprisingly untouched, the only damage she'd taken healed from Aveline's second Channeling. "This village sucks smelting fumes," he adds darkly in dwarven.

They're... attracting something of a crowd as they reach the speaking grove. As they arrive, they can hear Marthuc arguing loudly. "Their tent is still there, and breakfast charring on the cookfire and their weapons gone. It's clear something has happened. They would not have sim-"

He breaks off at the looks and silence, glancing behind him only to gape at the sight.

"So... we took care of that dragon for you?" Merrill offers brightly.

Hawke lets go of Marethari, using both hands to wrestle the dragon head around in front of her so they can all see. "Hi." she says, cheekily. A moment later, she gives a deep bow. "My deepest apologies for my tardiness. There was an incident I had to attend to. I am still willing to submit to any truthtelling spells you require, as well as pay any penalty for my tardiness above and beyond the restitution I have already offered for your wounded."

One of the other elders, a sour faced man not much younger than Marethari, rises to his feet. "What is the meaning of this? What have you done?"

Using every drop of sarcasm and snark he's absorbed from Varric and Hawke, Bob replies cheekily, "Killed a dragon. Do try to keep up please. It's been a long day already and if we have to keep repeating and explaining every little thing to you..."

Swallowing a laugh, Merrill taps him lightly on the head "Be nice to Elder Jorim. It's not nice to pick on slow people."

Hawke suppresses a grin, staying in a bow. _Merrill, I love you. But stop helping,_ she scolds silently.

Elder Jorim does not look pleased with their replies, but Marthuc cuts in first. "How- how did this come about? Why did you... do this?" _Instead of being here on time?_

"My lady and I were out in the woods, not all the far from Elder Marethari's home. She wished for some time alone, to think and reflect. Of course, given the... wonderful hospitality we've had so far, I was with her for her protection. And thankfully, the rest of our group was not far away, as the dragon attacked us quite unprovoked." Bob laughs darkly. "So much for not being a pressing concern."

Marethari blinks a few times. That... is not untrue... but... "I do believe I had mentioned that her disregard for our presence would not last," she adds after a moment.

"When I saw Merrill had left the camp, I was worried she may have been taken," says Hawke, darkly. "I was pleased to find she'd merely gone walking, but you can imagine my concern."

"Be as that may, that is not while we are here," Jorim says firmly. "I... suppose your lateness is understandable however," he allows, "but the dragon is not a part of your crimes against the innocents of this village."

He gestures for Hawke to move to the center of the clearing, where there's a small pit, barely two feet deep, for her to stand in. More symbolic than anything else. Once she's there, he continues, "You stand accused of destruction of public property, grand destruction of private property, theft of personal property, three counts of slander, causing a minor magical disaster in a public area and six counts of attempted murder. I am told you have pled guilty- is that correct?" Marethari lets out a hiss and Marthuc stiffens.

"That is not correct. I do not plead guilty to attempted murder, slander, grand destruction, or-- theft?" She looks puzzled. "What? You must have a very strange definition of theft."

"Malcolm Goldhawk has put forth charges on behalf of his bondmate Raynara for the loss of her bonding ribbon, her amber necklace and... an expensive silk garment," he explains stiffly. Aveline's face goes entirely blank.

"I know nothing of this crime," Hawke says, simply enough, "and I'd be happy to say so under a truth spell." A pause; her face twitches. "I'm sorry, the name of the accuser is Macolm Goldhawke? Was he ever acquainted with a Leandra Amell?"

"...Marian?" an elf blurts out from the side of the clearing, staring at her in shock. At his side, Raynara is glaring venomously at Hawke and Merrill. At her bondmate's outburst, her head snaps around to redirect him.

"I think perhaps we should move on to the truthing," Marthuc interjects. "Lady zi'Hawke, do you have any magical objects or spells you'd like to remove first?"

Hawke slides her quarterstaff into the holster on her back, heaving a heavy sigh. "This may take a few minutes," she points out, as she begins to remove magical items. _Headband, belt, armor, boots, cloak..._ "Just to be clear, my love, you're not blood related to this Raynara or her husband, are you?"

"I don't think so?" Merrill asks. "I have no idea who my blood relatives are," she adds softly, moving forward to start collecting Hawke's things as she takes them off. One of the elders had moved to do so but had pulled back sharply as the dragonblood-covered shaman had given him a killing glare. "I think there's a spell we could use but... I doubt they'd let us cast on them..."

"Marian, is that..." Macolm asks, looking very conflicted, despite his mate's furious whispering.

"Hallo, daddy," she says, with an exaggerated sigh. "It's good to see you again. It's been, what, twenty years now? More?"

"Daddy!" Raynara shrieks. "You- you have a half-breed spawn?" she demands, a hush following her words.

"He has three spawn, actually, but I'm the only one blessed with his striking looks," she adds, as she unbuckles her armor and hands it to Merrill. "I think that's all my gear."

"I..." Malcolm swallows repeatedly.

"Thank you, Lady zi'Hawke," Marthuc says politely, giving Merrill a nod as she backs away with Hawke's gear. He casts a few spells, then nods. "I do not detect any magics on her," he announces. "Are you still willing to allow a truthing?"

Once she nods, another Elder comes forth and chants for a moment, causing a faint swell of power to rush over the clearing. "....she has been affected," Marthuc announces again. "Lady zi'Hawke, do you have anything you wish to say before we question you?"

"Sure," she says, happily. "I have nothing to do with any theft from Raynara Goldhawk. It was not my intent to kill anyone. I have not slandered anyone. The story I recited earlier had no falsehoods and I'm happy to be asked about any part that is still confusing. I did not intentionally cast a destructive spell into the marketplace."

"Could you expand on your denials, starting with the theft?" one of the Elders asks. At the stir, she explains, "best to resolve the smaller, unrelated crimes first."

"Of course. The first time I became aware that any of Raynara Goldhawk's property, her husband's property, or anyone in her household's property was missing was when you charged me with theft a moment ago. Nor did I know she even owned an amber necklace. I have not come into possession of any of these goods." She shrugs. "I did not steal anything belonging to her, and neither did anyone in my party."

There's a bit of murmuring, then the same Elder asks, "So you do not have possession of or knowledge of the location of Raynara Goldhawk's missing property?

"I do not." She shrugs.

A scowl from Jorim but the others all seem satisfied- and so does Bob, but it's not likely that anyone here but Merrill and Hawke have the familiarity with his expressions needed to figure that out. "Very well. Then please expand on your deny of the spell you were witnessed to cast."

 _That's going to be the harder part._ She takes a deep breath. "Since I was a child," _as I was still a child when I moved to Nyra,_ "magic sort of... leaks out of me in times of emotional duress. I've had tutelage, but it only helps to a certain extent. When I am angry, things around me freeze." Another deep breath. "When I agreed to come here, it was with the understanding that Merrill had been abused by the people she should have been able to trust to look after her as a child. She had been mistreated horribly, cast out from normal social situations, and made to believe that she was worthless. I left the decision to visit up to her, and she chose to visit because she believed Elder Marethari should meet me and was worth visiting. We went to the marketplace and I... I left her alone for a few minutes to purchase some chestnuts." She doesn't try to hide the guilt or shame on her face. "I see now that I should have treated this place like enemy territory, but I thought I could treat it like I would the marketplace in Nyra. I thought no harm could come to her in those few minutes.

"When I returned, she was gone. Nobody could tell me where she'd gone. I was afraid she had been abducted or hurt -- Merrill would not have wandered off, not without finding me to let me know first. When I did find her, she was in a state of panic. She was pale and trembling, as though she had been assaulted verbally or sexually. She was incoherent, unable to explain what happened. I was afraid if I waited too long, the culprit would get away, so I attempted to enlist the aid of passers-by. I received instead looks of disgust, and it occurred to me that someone must have seen what happened -- and ignored it, leaving my Merrill in danger without attempting to render aid. Thoughts of what kind of thing could have happened to her caused a boiling rage, and before I was quite aware of it, the spell had been cast. I have since come to understand that this may be a sign of a condition we in Nyra call..." _Gods above, am I going to say this? Yes. If it means I don't have to leave Merrill for a decade or a century, yes._ "Battle fatigue."

Before anyone can comment or speak, Aveline steps forward to declare, "I am Captain Vallen of the Nyra City Watch. I have served for more than half my life and I can attest that Lady zi'Hawke bears _multiple_ signs of battle fatigue. I am willing to repeat this under truthing as well if so asked."

"So not a murderess, but merely an uncontrolled disaster?" Jorim snaps. "Forgive me, but I fail to see how this helps?"

"Well for one, it disproves the charges of attempted murder," Marethari snaps right back. "Reckless use of magic is a much lesser charge and accidental and unintended use of magic lesser still."

"If only someone had been around when I was a child to teach me how to control my magic," Hawke says, with a pious smile. Malcolm inhales sharply, averting his gaze to the ground.

"Very well, there is still the matter of the massive destruction of property and the pain and injury of those she attacked, purposely or not, to discuss," one of the other Elders remarks. "Elder Marthuc mentioned that you were willing to pay compensations? The damage to the market place itself is minor- our estimate is fifty gold. Merchant Sudius is still inventorying his lost product, but is currently tallying a hundred twenty gold and says that he'd had three hundred and seven gold worth of product in all told. Plus the repairs to his stall, which should be no more than ten gold. So you are looking at a hundred eighty to three hundred sixty-seven of charges for damaged property. Are you willing and able to pay this?"

 _That's going to hurt._ "Yes," the Light says, simply. "But I don't carry that kind of money on me." _I'll have to borrow from Varric, to make that up. Maybe sell some items._ "I will have to return home and send the money via courier. If I wrote a promissory note here, you'd just have to go to Nyra to get the money anyway."

Marethari catches Merrill's eye, who suddenly steps forward. "I can loan you the money Hawke. I have more than that available to me here."

"...very well. In addition, there is the matter of the injuries. All were able to be healed in full, with no lasting damage. As such, there needs only repayment to the healer and for their suffering. The healer will charge twenty gold per person, for another one hundred and twenty. The six injured have agreed to accept-"

"Beg pardon, Elder, if I may?" one of the elves watching on the side of the clearing calls out hesitantly.

There's a pause, then Marthuc replies, "of course. As one of the injured, you deserve a voice here."

The elf, an elderly man steps forward, his wife patting his arm approving. "We- my wife and I, would like to withdraw our claim. After hearing her explanation... well, I'm no wizard, but I'd think I'd take a swing or two iffen I saw my wife as she saw hers. I can't say I forgive her or anything, or want her around, but I'll not take her coin for this."

After a moment, one of the other elves huddled there steps forward and just bluntly says, "as long as she's forbidden from returning, I'll do the same."

"Acceptable," Hawke agrees to the second elf. "The sum remaining is also acceptable to me, if nobody else wants to step forward."

"Very well. Then that leaves us only the slander," the Elder that had suggested they start with the theft first says after a moment.

"We're going to drop thos-" begins Malcolm, but his wife cuts him off.

"I will not! I will not have what is being said about me stand! And I want my amulet and- and other things returned right now!" She glowers. "Or for them to pay for it. She has enough magical items there, she can give me them in trade if she has to."

Hawke grins a feral grin. "What am I meant to have said that was slanderous? That you were beyond cruel to someone who meant you no harm? That you hurt my **wife**? Or that you're a bitch who thinks too highly of yourself for your own good?" _Yes, let's repeat the so-called slander under a Zone of Truth spell, that is obviously what you want, you stupid bitch,_ she mentally goads her.

Malcolm hisses at his wife, trying to get her to _shut up_ but she glares at Hawke. "Yes! I merely spoke with an old acquaintance. Wasn't even a minute. It's not my fault you lost control of yourself and almost killed people. You're the crazy one, you admitted it yourself!"

"Are you levelling a complaint about the mental fitness of a Guiding Light?" asks Hawke quietly, her tone level as she glares at the woman.

Merrill growls softly, then snaps out a phrase in Sylvian, causing Raynara's eyes glaze over and her to sway. "Shut your mouth, bitch," she snaps, stepping into the zone of truth area. "You called me crazy, mocked, me, said I married a bird and stole my bondribbon. The only slander is spewing from your stupid dummy mouth."

"Merrill!" snaps Hawke. "My love, let her go. Please, this doesn't--" She has to pause and choose her words carefully here. "You shouldn't cast more spells in defense of my own trial for reckless magic use." _Thank the gods that one's true enough._

Merrill sniffs a little, looking entirely unrepentant even as Raynara snaps out of it. "She's fine," she says dismissively.

"Daze cantrip or not, that's not really proper behavior right now," Marthuc comments dryly.

"I want her punished as well!" Raynara demands.

"For having her bond ribbon stolen? As she accused you of under a truthing?" Marethari asks sweetly. "Very well, we can deal with that crime right after we're done with zi'Hawke. However, it's clear that the accusation of slander is utterly unfounded." After a moment, the elders all concede the point.

Hawke nods. "So. What charges remain to be answered?" she asks, politely.

"Only the sentencing. With the waived claims and dismissed charges..." Marthuc takes a moment to run the math though his head. "You're are offering to pay five-hundred and seven to... six hundred and twenty-seven gold, pending the results of the inventory of the damaged stall to determine what is recoverable. As well as what punishment we decree for the... uncontrolled magical outburst," he sums up. "Does anyone's account differ?" After a moment, wherein only Raynara starts to object before her husband kicks her in the ankle, he nods. "Very well. Then we Elders shall withdraw for a moment to discuss this."

Aveline lets out a slow breath. That's a not inconsiderate amount of gold. Years of wages for most and more than a few months even for a Guard Captain, but for an adven- "You know, we do have about a ton of dragon laying around. And the claim on whatever hoard it amassed," she notes to the crowd in general.

Hawke nods, with a sigh. "I had forgotten." she says, easily. "How weird is my life, that I fought a dragon and then forgot about it?"

"We could probably sell the village the dragon corpse to pay your fines," she points out. "A dragon of that size is easily worth a few thousand gold."

Merrill blinks a few times. "Oh yeah..."

"Not sure I can trust what they'd do with it," Hawke points out, then shakes her head. "But, I'm being paranoid now."

"A little," Aveline says with a faint smile.

"But we can only sell them the meat if you prefer. I doubt they'll eat it, because elves, but it's good for familiars. Very magically rich, it helps with the bond," Merrill explains. "Should pay for most of the fines, and we can do the rest with our travel coin."

The hero nods, then. "Yeah, let's do that. No offense to Elder Marethari, but I'd rather not need a loan if I can avoid it." She smiles a little, reaching for Merrill's hand. "Are you alright, my love?"

"I'm terrified they'll take you away and I'll have to break you out-" Merill begins blithely.

"I'm sorry," she says, squeezing Merrill's hand. "Please don't break me out, Merrill. I need to know you're safe while I'm captive."

"I w--w--w--w-will totally try to break you out," the elf says, sagging. "Stupid spell. But now that Aveline knows, I think she'll stop me?"

"Yes," the guard says firmly.

Hawke holds Merrill's hand. "I need you to be safe in Nyra. I can't... I won't be able to rest if I think you're here," she says, softly. "It will haunt my dreams."

Merrill scowls at Hawke. "And you think I'd be able to- well, I sleep like the very tired people- stupid spell- but do you think I'd be any kind of happy knowing you were all-"

She cuts off this time because the Elders are returning. Stepping forward, Elder Marethari look around. "We the Elders have spoken and decided. In addition to the monetary restitution that is to be confirmed by no later than tomorrow at noon, Lady Sage zi'Hawke is henceforth banished from Golden Green forevermore, again, starting from the hour of noon tomorrow. Also, she is to preform services to the community in the manner of two hundred hours, considered paid in prior service." She looks pointedly at the severed dragon head. "Finally, we require her sworn word that she shall seek out whatever measures are required to prevent this sort of occurrence from happening ever again by her hand or will. Do you accept this judgement, zi'Hawke?"

Hawke nods. "I accept." _No imprisonment? I'm free to go?! Thank Astea._

"Then please kneel and swear to your patron deity," Elder Marthuc requests.

 _Patron deity -- there's a contentious issue._ Hawke lifts her head to the sunlight with her eyes closed, dropping to her knees and placing a hand over her heart. "I swear upon the name of Astea, life-giver, lover of all, that I will seek whatever measures are necessary to prevent an accident of this kind from occurring again."

"Very well then," Elder Jorim says a little testily. "If that is all...?"

"You are dismissed, Lady Sage zi'Hawke," Elder Marthuc agrees. "You may step outside the clearing and-" He cuts off, amused if a little startled as Merrill tackles Hawke with an emotional cry. Marian catches Merrill, pressing a passionate, deep kiss to her lips. Merrill, never one to care about witnesses, eagerly presses in. Her arms go around Hawke, hands gripping her hips.

Aveline gives the crowd a half apologetic, half amused look, ending on the Elders. Who look... unamused for the whole. "Cease that at once," Jorim sputters.

Hawke pulls back long enough to say, "Kissing isn't illegal," before she goes back in.

"This is- do not- not here!" he tries to argue as Merrill wiggles over to try and straddle Hawke.

Hawke finally breaks off, as Merrill's motions become more sexual. "Alright, alright. I think they want you for the next trial, Merrill, but we can find someplace private after?"

Merrill makes a soft murr of disappointment. "i could cast web shelter?" she offers with a slight whine.

With a sigh, Aveline moves to pick Merrill up by the elbows despite the slender elf's half-hearted protests "Thank you, Mis-"

" _Captain_ or _Bright's_ Vallen, Elder Jorim," the paladin cuts in, tone polite but cutting.

Hawke steps up out of the pit then, ceding the floor. After a bit of housekeeping and shuffling around and Raynara finds herself in the pit. Her expression is a mix of shocked and stunned, clearly unable to fathom how this came about. Layla and Melane are off to the side, both them pale and sickly looking- the two of them at least realize what's about to happen, even if Raynara still can't figure it out. A short way away from Hawke and Aveline, Malcolm stands with his head bowed and his arms around his torso.

Hawke sighs, recognizing that posture. _Elves live forever. In their terms, he's not that much older than I am, not anymore._ She moves toward him, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," she says in Elven. "Are you alright?"

"My wife just tried to break my daughter-electi, then lied to my face about, causing me to try and have my own daughter thrown in jail for her petty pride," he says softly, pain only patchily covered in his voice. "I'm great, thanks for asking.

Aveline lifts an eyebrow. _Well, she clearly hadn't gotten it from Leandra..._

Hawke's concerns are different: _Daughter-electi. So he does consider me family after all._ "You should be able to trust your own wife," says Hawke softly. She then sighs. "On that note, I'm sorry. I didn't know where you were, or I'd have sent a notice."

He winces. "I... I would have sent a note and a... well.." Malcolm shifts, clearly uncomfortable. "A note. Raynara... was not well pleased that I had children... and has... made it clear she doesn't... want me to...."

"So you abandoned your own children because your bratty teenage wife doesn't like the fact that you're old enough to have them," she points out. "What an inspiration to live up to."

Aveline gently reaches out to take Hawke's hand, glancing away as she hears Jorim try to downplay the importance of the three elves using Merrill's old... nickname.

"No, it was more that she disapproved that I'd send money to them," Malcolm says after a moment. "I hadn't married the mothers so... so I should be saving my money for keeping my wife and our future children in their deserved lifestyle. I argued for a while but... it just got to be... easier, to make excuses about why I couldn't send much, then any, then stop... writing entirely."

 _Mothers?_ "Do you have any idea what I went through because of you? Any cash would have helped tremendously, but..." She sighs. "Nevermind. It's all in the past now anyway, and it's not like I'll be able to visit and disrupt your life again."

"That's fair," he says, not able to bring himself to argue with Hawke's accusation. "I... they were calling you Sage during the... during. And your staff- you're a caster then? What kind?"

"A magus, they call it," she says quietly. "Turns out I'm good at casting and hitting people at the same time. I have-- well, you heard about my ice affinity, I'm sure. And I'm a hero."

"Hey... all those songs and stories I've studied and my own daughter is one... not that I have much right to call you that," he admits. "I... I have some things... some spell notes and... such. If you want, They're pretty basic but... do you use that sort of thing?"

"I'm sure I can make use of it," she says quietly. "Maybe I'll find something that can prevent me from dying again anytime soon," she jokes.

Aveline's attention is pulled back from the trial, where one of the other Elders is berating Jorim about his inability to stay impartial during a case involving his great-grandniece to groan slightly. _That is not how to drop that on someone, amata..._

"Ummm, okay?" her father replies hesitantly. "So... magus. I can't say I've ever heard of that style before. Where did you learn?"

"Mostly self-taught. I had a bit of a magic tutor, but there aren't any other Magi in Nyra except my student." Hawke shrugs.

"Amazing," he breathes, eyes lighting up a little. "I would love to hear some stories of your adventures," he says excitedly, then sags.

"There isn't much time," she says gently, "but I could tell one or two? Papa's always fond of the underdark adventure," _right up until the end, which I don't have to tell._

"Pa- did- Did... Leandra marry then?" he asks, almost sadly but more... resigned. "I'm glad for her. For you both."

She shakes her head. "No. Leandra never recovered from losing Bethany." Her voice is softer, more gentle. "I found a family, a Clan, of my own after it was made clear I was no longer welcome in that house."

"Oh. I... see," he says, pained. "Well... I'm glad for you. You.. deserve better than what you got."

Marian smiles at him, a small sigh of gratitude slipping from her nostrils. _To think, my absent father is the only blood family that accepts me._ "I wish we had more time to get to know each other. I don't suppose you could visit me? I'm not hard to find, in Nyra."

He coughs a little. "I, uh, don't really have a good... well, there might be..." Malcolm glances at Aveline nervously. "I tend to avoid Nyra," he explains weakly. "But if you... well, if you ever travel, send a message. I wandered a lot in my youth, I'd love to play tour guide. "

Aveline sighs a little. _Got that from her father too. And her Papa..._

Marian sighs. "I don't know what I'll do with the remainder of _this_ vacation. Aveline had all this time off, and I've ruined our trip."

"Well...." He hesitates a moment, glancing at Raynara, who is trembling, her head bowed. Malcolm swallows hard. "From the... sound of things, I... well, it looks like I'm going to be on my own for the next eight months or so," he says, giving a hollow laugh. "Care to visit your grandmother? She, ah, never really approved of me, but... she'd like your wife, I'm sure. She's a druid, over at Raplin's Oak? Have you ever...?"

"The forest enclave protected by the minor tree deity?" Aveline asks, sounding interested.

"Ooh, Merrill might like that -- she loves to meet new spirits."

Voice amused, Aveline comments a bit thoughtlessly, "I've heard the Oak is tended by a sisterhood of dryads. Many consider them to be almost a form of natural outsider- I've always wanted to speak with one. And I can't deny that I'd not mind meeting even a minor deity in person."

Marian grins. "Then it's settled. We'll salvage that vacation yet." So said, she moves closer to Aveline, resting her head on the taller woman's chest.

Malcolm gives them a look, but doesn't comment. "It's not far, but it will take longer to get back to Nyra than coming from here. Did you come afoot or on horse?" The trial seems to be winding down and Merrill's part is over, so she's heading back to her wife and sister.

"We brought a carriage," Hawke says, half-closing her eyes in contentment and gratitude for Aveline's warmth.

"Lady Merrill," her father calls out loudly in greeting.

Aveline adds, "It's not really comfortable for three- I've driving and Beka, my mabari, runs a side- but it could work. It's not as Merrill would mind having to squeeze in next to you, amata."

"What am I squeezing?" the elf lady in question asks curiously.

"We're going to Raplin's Oak," says Marian, merrily. "Malcolm suggested it's a great vacation spot." She doesn't move, though she does crack her eyes open again to smile at her wife.

"Oh?" she asks, bouncing up to kiss Hawke soundly.

Aveline huffs a little at being used as a backstop but doesn't otherwise react to it. "Evidently, it's not only a forest enclave watched over by a minor tree deity but also where Hawke's grandmother lives. Mister Goldhawk has offered to come with as guide and introduction."

Hawke nods, once she's done with the kissing. "Sorry I ruined your vacation," she says quietly.

"You were the best part," Merrill insists. "As always," she adds, kissing her wife again.

Malcolm has averted his gaze by now, a slight bit flushed at having his suddenly grown daughter kissing a rather attractive woman... while being hugged by another attractive woman. He is conflicted.

"How is the trial going?" asks Hawk. "I haven't been paying attention."

"Raynare was found guilty for slander, theft, assault and whatever they decide calling two elders 'dried up ass-kissers chasing after handouts from some Nyran bitch' is as a charge. I think they're torn between 'disrespect of a council' and 'fomenting unrest.'"

Malcolm lets out a pained whimper, his eyes closing in horror as Merrill continues. "The other two just got accessory to theft and assault. Well, Melane is just accessory to assault," she reports all in one breath. "So they're just getting a bunch of community service but the head bitch is looking at like twenty gold and four months plus bunches of service. Or an extra week a gold she can't afford in fines."

Aveline whistles softly.

Hawke smirks. "Good. Maybe she'll grow up a little." _I doubt it, but maybe._ "Malcolm, how soon do you want to leave? I was going to head out this afternoon."

"I... I need to... talk to her first. But... maybe after dinner?" he croaks weakly.

"Sleep in the carriage? I like the way you think," she teases. "Merrill, I believe I promised you a good time after the trial?"

Merrill beams at her happily but before she can reply, something catches her attention. Elder Marethari has stepped ahead of the other Elders as she gives out their verdicts this time. "-and so it was decided that Raynara Goldhawk is judged owing the following- five months of imprisonment, seventy hours of community service, twenty gold and finally, a public apology and sworn oath to never speak of or to Merrill zi'Hawke, formerly of Golden Green, ever again save if needed to preserve a life." She pauses, then beckons Merrill to come forth. The shaman eeps softly and seizes Hawke's hand in a vice-grip.

Hawke holds Merrill's hand more gently, reaching up to rub her back with her other hand. "It's okay, my love, my flower. I'll come up with you. It will be okay."

Merrill nods jerkily as she takes a deep breath. "I'm right here with you too," Aveline says quietly. "And I think I saw Bob in a branch overhead a moment ago." Merrill offers them both a deeply thankful smile.

A moment later finds the trio standing just inside the clearing, Merrill flanked by her family. Elder Marthuc calls out, "Proceed Missus Goldhawk."

Raynara turns to face Merrill, face pale and drawn, her mouth in a grimace. "I... apologize for... hurting your feelings, insulting you and taking your things."

Marian squeezes Merrill's hand, just trying to be there, to be comforting. _Bitch. Fucking utter conceited bitch._

None of the elders look all that impressed save Jorim, who quickly says, "very good then. Now if you would accept her apology, we can continue with this oath nonsense."

Merrill frowns. "Well, if that's all the remorse she can muster from her cold, blighted little soul, then fine. I accept her apology in the same manner it was give." She sniffs. "Insincerely and only because we're supposed to," she clarifies.

Hawke suppresses a giggle. "It works better if you don't point out the punchline, my love," she says.

"I just wanted to be sure she understood. She was dumb enough to call the elders nasty things to their faces so..."

Clearing her throat, Elder Marethari manages to swallow down her laughter enough to speak cleanly. "Very well then. Misses Goldhawk, your oath- as we instructed you now."

She looks like she's being forced to piss demon blood, but Raynara obeys. "I, Raynara Goldhawk of Golden Green, do hereby swear in Uryll's name that I shall not speak to nor speak of Merrill zi'Hawke, formerly known as Merrill of Golden Green," she smirks suddenly, "and _Moonstruck_ unless saving a life requires it." Looking smug, she finishes and turns back to the Elders. Merrill's expression doesn't so much as flicker, but her grip on Hawke's hand spikes.

"I'd like to contest that oath," says Hawke, in her most regal voice. "I'm not certain the subject was properly and unambiguously identified."

"Please, continue, Lady Sage zi'Hawke," Elder Marethari says serenely. "As the subject's bondmate, you do have a right to speak here."

"The use of a nickname here allows the oath-swearer some leeway as to whether or not they apply the oath, and the use of such a contested one doubly so. She can simply claim that she's realized Merrill was never moonstruck, that that's a nasty slur and not actually a label to be applied to her person, and the oath may fail. I would ask that she swear it again, without any slurs or nicknames."

"That sounds reasonable, " Elder Marthuc agrees. "Misses Goldhawk, if you would speak the oath again? Properly this time?"

The smug look is gone, replaced with a sour grimace. "Fine. If I must, I will of course comply with the Council of Elders' whims. I, Raynara Goldhawk of Golden Green, do hereby swear in Uryll's name that I shall not speak to nor speak of Merrill zi'Hawke, formerly known as Merrill of Golden Green, unless saving a life requires it." She sneers then, giving Hawke a disgusted look. "Is that good enough then?"

"The oath, yes." She agrees.

Raynare frowns, not sure what that answer was supposed to imply.

"Very well then. As this trial is at a close, I wish to take a moment to give a... personal announcement," Elder Marethari says, stepping in front of Elder Marthuc before he could close the Council. "I have lived here in Golden Green for all my three hundred and ninety-two years, eighty-seven of them serving as Elder. This is my home. I recall what it looked like when the very first houses were still freshly cut, when the this very grove was cleared. I helped harvest the first crop of chestnuts. It was with pride and love that I helped this village grow.

"I am ashamed of what it has become.

"I have only a handful of years left to me. Perhaps only a few months. I will not spend there here. I am conceding my position as Elder and leaving. May Uryll guide you all," she finishes softly, slipping the necklace of her rank over her hand and pressing it into Elder Marthuc's hand. Merrill is watching all this with wide, wet eyes. She'd know Marethari was old of course. But she'd been old her entire life so it just never seemed... important. But this...

Hawke swallows. "Where will you go?" she asks, softly. _If there's any chance she will come back to Nyra with us..._

Walking over to them, the ex-elder offers a wan smile. "You know, I have no idea. I only decided to really do this about... five minutes ago," she says with a weak chuckle. "I don't supp-"

Merrill zips over to her and wraps her arms- carefully- around the ancient elf. "Mine," she declares firmly, glaring at the elders and everyone else not her Clan.

Aveline sighs a little. "Four is going to be _very_ crowded..." Glancing at Malcolm, she asks him, "I don't suppose you can ride, if we get a horse?" He nods mutely, eyes wide.

Hawke nods. "We are going on vacation to Raplin's Oak, and then back to Nyra. You're welcome to come with us, and to stay as long as you like. I do hope you like dogs, though. We've another Beka's size back home."

Beka, hearing her name, trots closer to nudge Hawke's leg as she gives Marethari a friendly wuff. _I'm a good guardgirl. Hi._

Marethari smiles faintly. "Raplin's? I haven't been there since I was young and... young," she says, a slight smile. And just the faintest of blush on her cheeks. "And dogs are lovely creatures," she adds, giving Beka a smile. Merrill beams and wiggles happily.

The mabari chuffs softly. _I am not lovely. I am fierce and powerful and loyal and clev- ooooh, scratches._ Beka's eyes half close as Aveline reaches down to pet her head.


	13. "I'm going to be wonderful!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their journey continues with Raplin's Oak as their next stop.

The rest of the morning and afternoon are spent collecting the treasure the dragon had stashed away, helping pack up Marethari's things (to either be brought with her, given away, or sent back to Merrill's residence, depending), breaking bread at her place one last time, and making passionate love to each other in Hawke's tent. Finally, just after dinner time, they pile into the carriage, heading toward Raplin's Oak. They won't travel all night, of course, but they may as well camp a ways out as in the village.

They decide to camp a few hours later, on the road leading back to Nyra; they had hoped to make the turnoff before they had to stop, but Malcolm's not nearly as good a rider as he remembers being, so they decided to stop after a time to let him rest before the waning light gave way entirely to darkness. They pitch Hawke's tent, and Macolm's as well, Marethari being invited to share Hawke's; they put up a fire, none of them being quite ready for bed yet, and Malcolm plays for them on a lute, weaving in stories of his adventures in his strong, rich voice.

Beka vanishes at one point; Marian watches her go, frowning, but surely the mabari would have growled or alerted them if there was danger? A few minutes later, she's back, leading a horse toward them. Marian jumps to her feet, staff at the ready, cutting Malcolm off with a "'ware" as she readies a spell.

"Blasted beast," a very familiar voice curses. "I would rather ride a dwarven smith who hasn't so much as drank water in a fortnight than ride your sweaty, smelly carcass a moment more!"

Beka neatly herds the riderless horse in their camp, right to Aveline so she can take off the tack. It's tucked in place, indicating it's a remount, but...

"Where did the other fuckless horse go?"

"Zevran!" Marian's shout of glee is followed by her dismissing the spell energies and racing into the darkness. Malcolm can only hope she's okay...

When she reaches the horse, Zevran's just finishing his ungainly dismount. She throws herself into his arms, kissing him hello quite passionately for only having been gone a couple days.

Breaking the liplock for a moment, he mutters, "the spirit is willing but the flesh is sore and achy, Tonight, you must ride me." Because he's sure as Ciren not going to go without. And back to making out.

"Oh for Astea's sake," another, even more familiar voice calls out.

Back in camp Merrill rushes out after Hawke, though she's a bit slower off the mark. Aveline rises to take the tack off the remount, tossing a 'friends of ours' to Malcolm.

The voice causes Marian to break off, squealing an even more delighted, "[Papa]!" as she turns towards it. "But, what are you two doing here?" she asks, a moment later, in common. "And-- Bless Astea, are you flying?!"

"Your damn right I'm flying-"

"skimming."

"Elf-boy, I will shoot you in the arse," Varric finishes. "I'm sure as every single hell not riding a horse or pony and there's no need to go any higher."

Zevran snorts, hands still firming on Hawke's butt when Merrill leaps into them, her limbs smooshing them together as she babbles happily in a mish-mash of common, elven and sylvan. Hawke laughs, but tears slide down her cheeks as she does, belying her simple happiness at seeing her Clan. "What are you doing here?"

Both men, in near perfect unison, glance a little to the side and clear their throats.

"Oh... you know. Got bored."

"We missed you dearly."

"Had some free time."

"In the neighborhood really."

"Luck and chance?"

"Well, you know, neighborhood in a very... loose sense."

"Exactly, couldn't have explained it better myself."

"But enough about us."

"How are you doing?

"Anything special?"

"Trouble maybe? Happy to help,"

"Because we were bored."

"Right, that. So...."

Hawke shakes her head, wiping away tears. "Never change, either of you. I'm glad you came to my rescue, even though I didn't end up needing it. My... my trial was this morning." Her voice faltered slightly.

"Trial? What in- what happened?" Varric demands, hovering a few inches off the ground.

Merrill scowls. "Golden Green is full of mean, spiteful people and I hate them all. Well, Dislike them all, hate a lot of them."

"Oh, ma douce fleur," Zevran asks gently, kissing her temple. "I.. I am sorry your visit did not go well.

Marian lowers her gaze. "Merrill, will you tell Malcolm -- oh, have either of you eaten? My love, if you could put on some porridge for them, I'd like to speak with the both of them before we introduce them to our new friends."

"...that will involve letting you both go," the elf says doubtedly, still clinging to them. "I don't see how that's a good idea." Zevran snickers, then whispers something in her ear. "Oooooooh," she says with interest. "That's... a good reason." With a quick kiss- okay, a not slow kiss- she hops off them and heads for the camp, detouring slightly to get Zevran's horse.

Marian grins at Zevran, though it fades as Merrill departs. She rests her head against Zevran's shoulder, sighing heavily. "How much do you know?"

"Mostly nothing," Varric says softly. "Best start from the beginning."

She sighs, shaking her head. "I'm sure you'll get the whole sordid tale out of Merrill and Malcom and Marethari and good lord we have a lot of M-names in this camp," she notes.

"And a mabari. Also, I've named my horses Motherfucker and Dickless the Wonder Shit," Zevran offers as he rubs her back. "So that's one and a half more."

Marian nods, with a small smile. "Right. Still. So much has happened so fast, I--" She sighs. "There's one thing that's... sensitive, before we rejoin the others."

"We're here for you, [daughter]," Varric says softly. "Just say what you need."

She sighs, hanging her head. "Papa... What do you know about Battle Fatigue?" she asks quietly. Zevran probably knows more, she guesses, especially from his own work, both with his own counselor and with victims who have gone through traumatic sexual situations, but... _I wonder if dwarves even get this kind of thing?_ she thinks, ashamed.

"..I am a stupid, addle-brained shit," Varric replies softly. "Even after our... early morning talks, I didn't even think to- yeah, I know what it is."

"It's fine, Varric. I had no idea myself. Even Aveline... she realized it only after listing off.." She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I had to tell her a few things. Things I didn't ever mean to tell her. But... I hurt innocent people. I lost control of my magic. I had to be stopped. I thought.... I'd have to..." She shakes her head. "But she thinks there's help for me, and as part of my sentence, I've sworn to get it."

"I... I speak with Seli and a friend of her's twice a month," Zevran offers softly, moving his hands to rub her back slowly as he holds her close.

Varric takes a deep breath. "I've never gone myself. I know a few of my minions do. And so does- ah, some people you know," he finishes, realizing he shouldn't share that even with Hawke. "Is there... going to be any... aftereffects? Of talking with Lawful or the trial? Or the... magic?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know for sure about Aveline. I don't know if... she'll want to stay with me, knowing as much as she does, knowing how I'm..." _Corrupting her._ "But the trial's done with. I'll be short on funds for a bit, and I'm never allowed to return to Golden Green, but that's no loss." Her face hardens for a moment. "The only good people in that town left with us. And one of them's debatable."

She can almost see Varric's mind review what she'd mentioned a moment ago, then his face blanks before a faint smile smoothes over his mask. "I'll feel Lawful out if I can," he says easily.

"If you need some to tide you over," Zevran murmurs. "Or if you need some work, you've no idea the number of people I get asking for you at Voice."

"You knew." she says flatly to Varric. She squeezes Zevran's hand in a silent thanks as she does.

Varric's brow furrows. "Knew...?"

"About my... don't play games."

He takes a deep breath. "I never bothered to track him. Put out word that if he came to Nyra, I'd be notified. Might have... quietly supported some noise about a bit of trouble he'd had at home to encourage him not to. But I thought you didn't... want him back," Varric says carefully, voice very neutral.

"I didn't. I don't." She sighs. "I don't know. It's going well so far. Maybe it can work out?" She rakes a hand through her hair. "I'm being a dumb shit, aren't I? It's going to end like Carver."

"Not at all," Zevran says firmly. "If nothing else, you have something like three times as many people willing and ready to smite him as before. Also, I am sure your Papa will be pleased to... talk to the nice man and ensure he means you well." He gives her a pointed look.

"Yeah, you're right," she agrees, with a nod. "Oh, I've already told him about you," she says to Varric. "He misunderstood me at first -- thinking you'd married Leandra, of all horrors! -- but I stuck it to him good how he abandoned me and how you've always been there for me, so I think he'll be okay about the whole thing." She smiles at Varric. "If he gives you any crap, give him hell right back, Papa. Life's too short for this kind of shit."

Something enters the dwarf's eyes then before his smile relaxes a hair, turning (to her familiar eyes) real. "That's my girl," Varric says gruffly. "So. What's this about a trial? Anything else we need to know?"

She sighs. "Like I said, you'll probably hear all about it. Marethari straight up surrendered her claim to being an Elder over the way they treated my wife, so that's something at least. But the rest of them are dead to me now." She shakes her head. "Not one [slagging] person so much as spared a kind word. Not one."

"Well, no, fuck them," Zevran says simply. "Shall we rejoin the others? I have two ladies to please, two fathers to tease and two more to... seize?" He ponders, then nods. "Elves only rarely age badly and I am ever hopeful that Aveline will succumb."

"Hate you so much elf-boy," Varric mutters as he floats off. "So much. Sixteen hours of this it's been."

Hawke puts a finger in Zevran's face playfully. "No fucking my maybe-dad."

Zevran sniffs disdainfully. "That one has far to go before he is worthy of being blessed by my dragon," he says with a snooty air.

"Good," she says, with a smile. "Come on, come meet your almost-family-electi." She takes Zevran's hand, dragging him back toward the campfire.

"I think perhaps I will enjoy meeting Merrill's family more from the sound of things, but why not?" he asks, hooking arms with Hawke as they stroll back. "Is... there anything I should know before we arrive?" he asks in a soft murmur.

Marian starts to shake her head, but then hesitates, and whispers, "She's dying. I don't know if Merrill realizes, but she's got maybe a year left. I invited her to Nyra, to spend it with Merrill. She's... she's Merrill's Varric."

"Ah. So perhaps no sexing," he replies after a moment. "While a glorious way to go, I think Merrill would be put out with me even I fucked her grandmother to the heavens in a literal sense."

They arrive at the campsite then, were Merrill is happily trying to help Aveline make dinner, mostly by preventing Varric from 'helping.' The elder Hawke looks confused, amused and also a little wary by the goings on. Marethari is contentedly watching with a soft smile as she pets a pleased looking Beka.

"Malcolm," Hawke says with a smile. "This is my Papa, Varric, and my lover, Zevran."

Marethari raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment, having guessed as much from Merrill's letters even before Hawke has fairly well confirmed her assumptions. Beka huffs a greeting, but doesn't lift her head from the elf's lap. Aveline is too caught up in her glaring match with Varric to do more than flick a curt wave at the Madame.

Malcolm has the most... significant reaction by far. His gaze has been on the trio cooking and it was only Hawke's hail that takes his attention to the approaching pair. Her what now? Is she- "Dro-!" He leaps to his feat, hand grabbing for the hilt of his short sword before his brain points out the relevance of the fact that his daughter is happily watching arm-in-arm with the... male. "-wned... sailors. Drowned sailors. That's... the punchline to..." he coughs awkwardly.

Marian narrows her eyes, giving her... Malcolm... a flat look. "As I said. My lover."

Malcolm winces a little. "Sorry... my mind was wandering and the... joke just... snuck up on me. Ah, good to met my- to met Marian's, ah," he flicks a look at Merrill and his voice pitches a little lower almost instinctively, "lover?"

Zevran takes it easily enough, giving it a polite shake. "And to met you as well. If it soothes your fears, I can assure you that not only does out lovely flower know about how Hawke and I fuck like depraved rabbits but also joins in. Alas, the strikingly handsome Aveline has yet to fall to my charms, but Hawke has had better luck. Had some luck with an impressive number of people, actually. I doubt she's so crude as to count, but... at least forty, I'd say, no? Well, if you only count direct interaction, otherwise that orgy-" he finishes, offering a hand with only a very slight hesitation.

"Zevran!" laughs Marian. "Varric!" She gestures helplessly toward her Papa, trying to get him to curb his tongue solely for the dwarf's sake.

Malcolm lets out a strangled noise. Then takes a deep breath. Another one. "Nope. Not going to fuck this up," he mutters in Draconic, before switching back. "As a father, I should probably disapprove, but as a bard, I'm impressed. And a little jealous. Given your age, you must be working far faster than I ever did," he offers. _Just because she's a daughter, not a son, doesn't mean I should get bent out of shape. Even if my daughter is... with a half-drow. Or who knows what else. No, focus on the honey in the hive, not the bees. Your daughter is a powerful mage, married to a... nice elf girl with powerful shamanic gifts and evidently, ah, very popular._

Varric is currently focusing very hard on his argument with Aveline, trying to convince her to let him cook the rabbit. Merrill, after getting the rabbit skewers setup, bounds over to Hawke and Zevran to hug them both again.

Marian plants a kiss on Merrill's cheek. "I sort of, happened into this whole thing," she laughs. "I still blame Zevran. Nobody could have their first time with someone so astounding and not end up a little bent." Still, her jest done, she turns a real smile on Malcolm. "I know it's a little strange, but it works for us. We're all open about who we're with and when, and we all have each others backs when things become difficult."

Malcolm's expression goes from pleased and annoyed, to pleased and bemused to guilty and resigned. "That's... another area where you'd done me better then," he says softly. "I'm glad you're done so well for yourself." He takes a deep breath and manages a smile, though it's somewhat bittersweet.

Her expression solemn but kind, Merrill steps over to hug him softly. "You messed up and hurt my Guiding Star. Badly. But you're trying to make it better, make it up to her. So... I won't forgive you. But you can have a chance to earn it still."

Marian quirks an eyebrow. _Him you can't forgive? But you wanted to try and be family with Carver?_ "Oh! Since Varric's back -- or I guess, I'm back with him -- I cede my turn at storytelling to him." she says gaily. "My papa is the best storyteller I've ever met. He can tell you all about how we met, you're in for a treat."

"What? Hawke, I'm a little-" Aveline takes advantage of Varric's distraction to shove him away from the cookfire, moving to block him right after. "Oye! Damnit wench, see if I help you again, ungrateful slab of metal," the dwarf grumbles, moving over to the elfy-huddle up.

Marian grins at Varric, tilting her head slightly. "It's better over here anyway. I promised Malcolm you'd tell him how we met?"

"You mean the part where you nearly tripped over me or the part where I hired this hungry little waif to do paperwork?" Varric asks with a smirk.

"I met Hawke when she was hired to escort me to Nyra because everyone but Marethari hated me and she couldn't keep up her duties and train me anymore," Merrill chimes in brightly.

"She and Varric found me chained, naked and whipped bloody in the hands of some very unkind souls," Zevran offers, then glances at Aveline expectantly.

"...I, ah, arrested her. For... theft," the guard says awkwardly. _From a tomb, but that's details._

"Scared me half to death," adds Marian, with a laugh. "And this was all in the same year!"

Storytime continues long into the night -- longer than it really has any right to, honestly. In the morning, they get a later start than Marian would like, but they start as friends, maybe as something approaching family.

~*~

It's several days journey to Raplin's Oak, during which time Marian tries her best to get Merrill excited about seeing a druid community -- with a tree spirit in the center, no less! They arrive shortly before sunset, too late to really do much sightseeing but too early to go to bed, and Marian offers to walk Merrill around the village to see what can be seen on foot before it gets too dark. Malcolm is doing his very bardic best to get allow with everyone- he swaps stories with Varric and Zevran (though the subject matter was rather different) he attempts (and largely fails) to teach Merrill the basics of lute-playing and... avoids Aveline, who seems to intimidate the fuck out of him. Which is amusing, as she's the least likely of the group- save perhaps Marethari- to bury him in a ditch if he makes Hawke cry. Kick his ass, sure, but he'd live.

Arriving at Raplin's, he heads off to try and find his mother, while Varric and Zevran eagerly head for the inn- fancy magic tent or not, they miss living in a building. Aveline stays with Marethari, who is dosing in the carriage, leaving Hawke to have her walk with Merrill and Beka.

The shaman appears to be almost drunk as she leans against her wife, eyes glazed. "So many spirits," she manages to mumble. "So many voices, raised in song amidst song. Like... like sticking your head inside of a barrel filled with choirs."

"Are you... going to be alright, Merrill?" asks Marian, concerned, as she wraps her arm around her wife's shoulders.

"I'm going to be _wonderful_ ," Merrill says happily, leaning up to kiss Hawke. Or... evidently to blow a raspberry on her cheek.

Marian turns to catch her mouth with her own, kissing her briefly, but deeply. "Good."

Merrill giggles happily into Hawke's mouth, then pulls away slightly. Eyes bright, she shifts her hands so one is around Hawke's waist while the clasps Hawke's own hand. "Dance with my, my love!" she pleads.

Marian laughs, shrugging. _Only you, love,_ she thinks kindly as she begins a waltz with her wife.

They get a few stares of course- a pair of fetching young woman dancing closely in the middle of town is going to get second looks. Merrill singing softly, a wordless crooning melody that she's only vaguely able to keep on chord- or dance in time with- doesn't help them not stand out either.

As they continue to dance, Hawke would slowly realize that not only has the humming smoothed out, the rhythm and pitch finding a pleasing tone, but it's also now coming from behind her as well. Marian dips Merrill then, trying to get a glimpse of who is looking on now. There's an elderly gnome female doing a slow shuffling dance of her own, humming the same tune Merrill is hearing. As the gnome spins in place a little, revealing that she's two-stepping with a silver-furred badger. The gnome, spotting Hawke's glance, winks but otherwise continues her dance.

_Alright, that's a little odd,_ shrugs Marian, righting Merrill as she continues on her way. _Not likely to be harmful, just odd._

After a minute or so, the gnome slows to a halt. "I'd offer to swap partners, but dancing with a bigfolk either requires a box or two dates first," she cackles with mirth.

Merrill blinks slowly, lifting her head from Hawke's shoulder to peer at the gnome. For about a second, then her gaze snaps to the badger. "Oh! Aren't you just a darling little spirit badger!" she beams, hand moving up to play with Hawke's collar.

Hawke raises an eyebrow. "That might just be a badger," she comments. "Unless I'm meant to be seeing it too?"

Merrill blinks a few times. "Oh no, that's a real badger- he's like my Bob," she explains.

"Thought you were a shaman," the gnome says with a knowing nod, the badger shuffling over so the gnome can lean slightly against him.

Marian grins. "Yes, my wife has always had one foot in the spirit realms," she says proudly.

"Hah! That's a good way of putting it. Young for it though- hearing ol'Raplin's song so well I mean," she remarks, jutting a chin out at the massive tree in the distance. "Name's Granny Peli and this one here is Silveroak." The badger rumbles softly, eyeing them both curiously.

Merrill looks a little puzzled. "Why would it be hard to hear? It's so loud and.... everywhere!"

"I can't hear it at all," says Hawke, pressing a kiss to her wife's cheek.

Merrill looks sad, actually drooping a little. "I really wish you could hear it... could see spirits or... anything really. That was why I was so excited about... ummm, that one," she finishes with a pained wince.

"Maybe there's a spell or a potion I could take?" she wonders.

"Actually, there is," Granny Peli cuts in. "Won't help with the seeing, but it'd let you hear Raplin's song for an hour or so. Also make you randy as ten rabbits in heat for a few hours after that part wears off. Then hungry enough to _eat_ those ten rabbits. Thirsty too."

"I can work with that," laughs Marian. "Where can I get some?"

"Heartsap of the Oak can only be obtained by one of Raplin's daughters," Peli replies. "So you'll have to convince them you deserve it, that you can be trusted with that sort of gift. Consumed with honey and mint, it'll bring you closer to nature, to the primal ways for a time. But it can be abused, like everything else in the world."

"Couldn't we just use it there?" Merrill asks curiously, getting a chuckle.

"You're not going to want to move around much once you've taken it- you both saw how you reacted to hearing the song and you're at least used to hearing that sort of thing, if nothing so fine and prominent. Many are too embarrassed to be so affected in front of the daughters," Peli explains.

"I mean, to be fair, I probably can't be trusted with that sort of gift," Marian points out. "I just want to try it because I think it'd be fun."

"Sounded like you wanted to try it because it's an important part of your lady's life and you wanted to share it with her," Granny says slyly. "Can't see many better reasons to be doing much of anything."

"Really?" She asks, her eyes brightening. "That's a good enough reason? I mean, I'd really love to touch a piece of what Merrill lives with."

"Good enough that I'm sure one o'the daughters would be willing to at least talk with you," Peli says with a nod. "How long you be staying in town?"

"We're not sure yet, but at least a week, if not two." Marian smiles. "We're calling it a late honeymoon."

Merrill giggles happily, pulling Hawe down for a quick kiss. "We'd gone to my home village first, but, it, ummm," she smiles weakly. "Well, this village is already much nicer. But maybe it's better this way, because if we hadn't gone there first, then Zevran wouldn't be here. I think he'd enjoy the heartsap too. Or at least you under the effects of the sap. Having some help with an extra horny Hawke probably be good anyway."

Granny Peli raises an eyebrow, then grins lasciviously . "Got yourselves a boy-toy?" she asks approvingly. "Ah, I remember that sort of thing when I was younger. Had myself quite the bevy of strapping young men paying court to me..."

Again, Marian's eyes nearly light up. "And they don't think it's strange, here? To love freely and frequently?"

"People know to stay out of other people's faces," Peli says dismissively. "Besides, lots of beasts have more than one mate or a new mate each season- what makes humanoids so damn special?"

"They do?" she asks, blinking. "I had no idea."

Merrill nods. "Yep. Bob's race is like that- it's considered strange and almost unnatural for them to have more than one litter with the same pair but they keep partners. Each couple raises the female's litter, regardless of who the father is," she offers.

"My Silveroak is the alpha of her sett. She breeds with all the males of the sett she fancies and what cubs she has, she has," Peli adds. "Not unusual for cubs of the same littler to have different fathers for that matter."

"That's-- Is there any way to make Merikos do that? Or elves? Get pregnant by many people, I mean?"

"Sure- just get filled by more than one male and pray. Or use a spell to increase your fertility," she replies with a grin. "Dangerous to try for more than three though." She studies them both then says, "actually, given that you're both elf blood, even triplets could be risky. Even catfolk, kitsune and ratfolk rarely succeed at having more than three in one go. Humanoid bodies just aren't designed for it."

Marian nods. "We'll figure something out, won't we, love?" She smiles at Merrill.

Merrill squees happily, then wraps herself around Hawke, uncaring of their audience, as she attempts to kiss Hawke's lips, cheeks, forehead and chin all at once. Giggling merrily, Marian traipses toward their campsite. "Lovely meeting you, but I mu- must see to my wife," she laughs, struggling to keep her mouth free long enough to bid her new friend goodbye.

"Clearly so!" Peli says with a laugh. _Ah, makes me yearn for spring again..._ Girl's eyes remind me of someone though... hmmm "You two make sure you come by the Oak sometime soon, ya hear!"

"Will do!" calls Marian, gleefully carrying her wife back to the campsite.

~*~

The next morning, Malcolm knocks on the door to Marian's room. After a moment, he knocks again, wanting to find out if they're up for going to see his mother before lunch. Getting a little impatient, he knocks a third time, louder and longer. Finally, the door opens and his straightens up. And quickly turns around, flushed, when Merrill opens the door completely nude with sleep glazed eyes.

"Ah- you- you're-" he sputters, not even hearing Merrill slurred mumbling.

"Merrill, pants," yawns a sleepy Marian from the bed behind her wife.

Zevran, also nude, comes up behind Merrill and slips a robe around her, then reaches around to close it. The elf leans back against him sleepily. "Our apologies- Merrill does not do well with mornings," he offers with a grin. "Did you need something?"

"I, ah, was just wondering if you- Marian I mean, but if you wanted- if she and maybe you- both- wanted to try and see your grandmother around lunch," Malcolm says awkwardly.

"Lunch sounds great," says Marian sleepily. Then, a moment later, "Zevran, pants."

"I'm behind Merrill," he protests, winking at Malcolm, who merely rolls his eyes. Strangely, he's less bothered by the idea of seeing Zevran naked than Merrill. Mostly because both rather attractive to his tastes and his _daughter-electi_.

"Right then- I'll let the three of you... get yourselves ready for the day then," her father replies. "The innkeeper has breakfast about to go to the table though, so I'd suggest you not dawdle."

"Tea?" Merrill asks, a pleading whine in her slur.

"Ah, yes, I imagine so?"

"Thanks, Malcolm," Marian adds. "I'll get her ready."

"Not a morning person, I gather," he says with a low chuckle. "Lea- ah, right. Soon you shortly then." He nods briefly, then closes the door before heading downstairs. _Well... that was awkward. Amusing, but awkward. I did not need to know just how fine my daughter's taste in woman is..._

Zevran laughs as well as the door closes, even as he steers Merrill over towards the bathroom where she'd been heading before the knocking had penetrated her sleep fogged mind. "I'll get her into the shower, if you'd be so kind as to get out some clothes for us?"

A short time later, they're all three dressed (she even made Zevran put on a shirt), and heading for the dining hall to take breakfast. Marian helps Merrill to her seat, putting a plate in front of her and pouring her tea before she fixes her own. Varric is off in a corner, talking with a pair of likely-looking lads- she can just make out the dwarf making his 'spare change for spare gossip' pitch. Marethari isn't down yet, it seems, but Aveline is deep in conversation with Malcolm. Talking about local customs, from the sound of it... though Hawke's practiced ears detect a little something else going on there. Is... is he flirting with Aveline? Huh. The guardwoman doesn't seem to notice, if that's what's going on. Merrill happily sips at her tea, uncaring that it's steaming hot, but Zevran seems more interested in smiling at the innkeeper's daughter, who in turn is very interested in the drow merikos.

_Good. Aveline deserves to be flirted with,_ Hawke decides, setting about her breakfast. _And of course Zevran has his choice of bedwarmers. Good thing I have Merrill to keep me company._

Merrill is just starting to perk up a bit when she stills, mug at her lips. "Hawke," she whispers urgently. "Hawke, Hawke, Hawke- do you see that?"

Following her gaze, the magus can see... a seven foot long cat that must weigh more than Beka, Silence and mabari-form Merrill combined lazily slinking over to the fire to stretch out on the floor. Very pretty looking, with silver-white fur stripped with black.

Hawke gives an appreciative whistle. "That is a huge cat."

"Okay good, you can see it too," Merrill says with relief. "...I wonder if that's a... mabari cat?"

"That would make sense," Hawke agrees, with a nod.

Malcolm glances over and finally notices Merrill and Marian have arrived. "Ah, you're both finally up! Good, good. I was just talking to Aveline about plans for the day- I left word with, ah, mother about meeting up for lunch in the town square, but that won't be until first bell past noon. So we were thinking about perhaps doing some window shopping, if you'd be interested in joining us?"

Hawke gives a small grimace. "Yay, shopping?" she says, trying to sound cheerier than she feels. Merrill enjoys it a lot more than I will, but, it'll be fun to spend time with them I guess.

"Just the dress and fabric shops, then we should go for a walk," Merrill suggests. "We can take Beka and have a good runabout."

"Not much for browsing wares? At stores at least," Malcolm says a little slyly, then blinks as he remembers she's _his daughter._ So weird...

"I've never been a shopper. Comes of growing up poor," she replies without thinking. "I mean-- sorry." she adds, with a wince.

"No, that's... fair. I deserve to be reminded about... what my actions did to you," Malcolm says softly, eyes cast downwards. "And..." He frets at his lip for a moment. "Speaking of... have... do you know how your brother is doing?"

A dark look crosses her face, but she forces it aside. "He's alive. Doing well enough for himself, I suppose." Malcolm doesn't seem to entirely buy it but also seems to realize that he shouldn't press.

"Right, well, let's eat so we can get going," Aveline suggests briskly. The group focuses on their meal for a few minutes, Varric finally coming over to get something to eat after shaking both lads' hands firmly. After a little more small talk and some discussion of plans, they disperse.

Varric evidently plans on circulating around the town and seeing if there are any more opportunities for the discerning dwarf. Zevran seems to have vanished- and so has the innkeeper's daughter. Aveline finishes first, standing up and dusting off her hands. "Right then. Everyone ready?"

"Seems like!" says Marian, putting down her napkin.

The morning goes well, if uneventfully. Merrill isn't all the impressed with the dress shop, but she does pick up a few bolts of fabric. And a spool of phase spider silk, which she gleefully announces will do wonderfully for the nightgowns she plans to make for Hawke, Isabela, Aveline, Seli and herself. And possibly Zevran, if she has enough. Evidently, she wants to see if she can make it so the nightgown will phase in and out at random, creating a partial see-through effect in spots. Poor Malcolm is clearly picturing said outfit, but then his mind reminds him his daughter and daughter-electi will be among the wears and... yeah.

Still, that only lasts an hour or so before the quartet split up. Aveline seems to just be enjoying the ability to wander around and not be a guard, Malcolm is a little torn at not spending time with Marian but also wants to give her some time alone with her new bride. And he also seems to be interested in Aveline.

Regardless, the two newlyweds head off for a long walk in the area outside of town, soon finding themselves strolling alongside a riverbank. Some coaxing and pleading eyes later and Merrill convinces Hawke to go for a swim, stripping down to their small clothes- well, just a pair of knickers for Merrill, as the rather flat elf doesn't really ever bother with a brassiere. Later, curled up on the bank together, Merrill quietly shares a little about her childhood. She's never wanted to tell Hawke, a deep seated fear of rejection preventing her from taking that step, from showing Hawke why everyone else either hated her or at least keep their distance.

"I actually remember your father... he was a bit more than a decade older than me, and always trying to impress the prettiest of the older girls, so we didn't interact much. Never really played with me, but he didn't do anything mean to me either. Then again, by that point, the only ones that did have anything to do with me where those that didn't have a choice. El- I mean, Marethari mostly really. Half the time, people would ignore me to find her, just to make her talk to me instead." She sniffles softly, eyes on the flowing water.

Hawke rests her head on Merrill's shoulder, her hand gently tracing lines on the elf's stomach. "I'm sorry that happened," she says quietly. "When we first met, Marethari told me there was nothing wrong with you. I don't know if that helps, but... I believed her. I know I bluffed a lot back then, pretending you were... ill, or something... but I saw how wonderful you were as fast as I saw how strange you were."

"I... I don't really mind that it happened. Not now anyways," the elf replies, thoughtfully. "Not because I forgive them exactly, or that I don't think they were mean," Merrill adds quickly, not wanting to get Hawke's back up. "Just... if I hadn't been who I was and they hadn't done as they did, I wouldn't have gone to Nyra. I wouldn't have met you or Zevran or Wynne or Seli or Aveline or Varric or Andy or Isabela or the twins or the Astronomer- did you know he has a special eyeglass that lets you see the ridges on Talian's craters!- not to mention all the new spirits there." She takes a deep breath, not because she needs it but because she's starting to realize it freaks some people out when she doesn't breath. "So... I don't mind as much anymore. What they did to me. It brought me here."

Marian is quiet for a bit, tracing runes on Merrill's stomach. Finally, she says, with a small sigh, "I know what you mean. But... And don't tell anyone this... I don't think I can agree. I know I should. Bethany's death, my family problems, your tribe, my father leaving, Avaline's fiancee, Zevran's enslavement... We wouldn't be us without those things. And being us is good. But I... I can't be okay with a world that does those things to us. That hurts my family that badly. If I could change the past I would, because I'd rather you never have suffered that than meet me. You know?"

"Well... not really, no," Merrill replies, having just said the opposite a few moments ago. "I wouldn't mind if they hadn't happened and I still had you all. I mean, me being me isn't that great a me to be, so that part being different wouldn't be bad but I'd happy to do it all over again to have our Clan."

"You're a wonderful you," corrects Marian gently. "You deserve to be loved. I'm glad you are now, but wouldn't it be better not to... " She sighs. "I have nightmares," she adds quietly. "I don't usually wake you."

Merrill nods a little. "Zevran's mentioned them," she says gently. "I wish you would though. I want to help you." She gives Hawke a squeeze. "Do you want to talk about them now?"

_That brat,_ Hawke thinks fondly. "I didn't... I don't want to trouble you. I love your spirit, your joy... I don't want you to be sad or angry for me."

"...but I want to be. Well, I don't want to be sad or angry for you, because then there's a reason for it, I would hope anyway, but if there is a reason I should feel things with you. We're married now even, so I'm supposed to do half your being sad and such, right?" she asks a touch cheekily. "But... but if you really just need me to be happy with you, for you, then... that's okay too. I'm good at being happy when I'm sad or worried."

Marian shakes her head. "I don't want you to _lie_ either, I just... I wish I wasn't this way. It seems wrong to make you deal with it. But. Openness and trust, right?" She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I don't always sleep at all. Some nights... Too many nights... I like awake remembering all the ways and times I failed. Anders. The gem. Memento Mori. Denarius. Bethany. All the little hurts, the times I misspoke or you misunderstood and I hurt you. The look on Zevran's face when... The way he sounded when he called me Mistress." Her voice slowly drops to a whisper, her eyes staring past the sky into imagined horrors.

_It wouldn't be a lie... I'd just be feeling two things at once. It's not that hard... is it?_ Pushing that all aside, Merrill focuses on Hawke. "Being smart isn't always nice, is it?" she asks gently, leaning up to kiss her cheek softly. "I forgive you. For anything and everything I'm allowed to, I forgive you. What you did, mistakes and all, lead us here. And I love here."

_I don't._ The thought scares her, takes her by surprise. She loves Merrill. She loves being married to Merrill. She loves lying together like this, being with her. But... Why doesn't she love this place, this life they're building? _What is wrong with me?_

A little worried by the lack of response, the tensing of Hawke's body, Merrill twists so she can look up at her wife. "Hawke... is... something wrong?" she asks with concern.

"No, I--" She cuts off, rueful. "[Honesty. Slag and mortar.]" She shakes her head. "Sorry. Yes. I'm... I need to think for a while is all."

"Honesty, Openness and Trust doesn't mean you have to spill out your soul every time one of us opens our mouth," Merrill says gently. "That's the Trust on our end, that you'll share what you can, when you can. Take your time, ma femme bien-aimée. And if it's not me you can speak with, that's okay too." She presses another kiss to Hawke's cheek.

Marian relaxes some then, smiling in appreciation. "Mon coeur, ma dulcinée. Thank you."

~*~

The two are quiet for the next little while, just taking comfort in being with each other. Around noon, they finally rise and dress to head back into town to met up with everyone for this lunch meeting. The walk back is lovely, the weather fine and the setting beautiful. Even the two is... better. Sure, no-one stops them for a chat or anything but people make eye-contact. Offer a nod or a smile, particularly marriage-age woman who clearly know the look of newlyweds. Of course, there are a few less positive looks, from those a little too interested in seeing two attractive woman arm-in-arm or those that disapprove, but none of it is personal or even that strong.

Everyone meets up without issue, Aveline naturally already being there ten minutes early as is her wont. Malcolm is there by virtue of having spent the day with him as well of course. He proceeds to inform them that his mother- Brienne he adds in an aside, or Misses Goldhawk... or grandma, he guesses- has invited them back to her home in town instead of going out. Not that many restaurants her anyway. Just the inn really. Well, the bakery sells meat buns and the like and there are some seats outside. Anyway, he leads them to a house on the edge of town, a small place. Clearly just four rooms or so, a house designed for someone living on their own. Paints a bit faded and the steps up to the tiny porch look little wobbly but it's nice enough.

"Any last questions or anything?" Malcolm delays, clearly nervous about seeing his mother in person.

"Anything I shouldn't bring up?" jokes Marian, not expecting anything.

Malcolm pales a little. "Ah... well... maybe not.. not bring up but at least be... careful if you mention the, ah, complexity? of your personal relationships," he says weakly. "Mother... did not approve of my... wandering and that might... come down on you." He coughs a little. "She'll be pleased your married? And to a shaman no less. She's not magic herself or anything but she was born and raised under the Oak so... a lot of respect for that sort of thing."

Merrill looks rather startled at the idea that she'll be the 'respectable' part of Hawke and her Clan for once.

A shadow passes across Marian's face once more. "I don't lie about my loves."

Malcolm winces. "Not lie, just... be careful about how you explain about them. She, uh, has some real issues with the whole... careless sex thing. And... she might be a little... weird about you at first. Because I, uh, never... technically told her about you? Specifically? Or formally acknowledged you so you're kind of... uh, well..."

"A bastard?" Merrill says sweetly, her smiles just a wee bit sharp. "Is that the word you were trying not to use?"

Marian puts a hand on Merrill's arm. "It's fine. I've never denied what I am."

"Yes you do," Aveline says idly. "You've denied being a hero, being noble, being incredible, being all sorts of wonderful things. But we should head in, unless there's anything else?"

Malcolm, still looking a little pained, shakes his head. "No, I think... uh, that'll be fine. I mean. She's a bit... older, so normal respect your elders stuff, I suppose as well, but nothing... special beyond that I think."

Merrill nods easily. "Lead on then, father-electi," she replies.

Nodding, Malcolm takes a deep breath and heads up the stairs to knock. It only takes a moment for the knock to get some attention- in this case from a small reptile. About two, two and a half feet tall, maybe forty pounds, with pebbled skin in bright greens with red strips across it's back. It comes running around from the back of the house on its hind legs, hissing warningly at them. Beka, at Aveline's heels, gives the critter an unimpressive look. A second after the reptile comes into view, the front door opens to reveal a middle-aged elven woman. She's got long dark hair, almost to her waist, a slender build and piercing green eyes. Her face is lined, but friendly enough- until she sees Malcolm anyway, then it drops into a cool expression.

"Mother..." Malcolm offers wanely.

"Mal," she replies, eyes flicking past him. Her expression tightens a bit more. "What's all this then?"

"Ah, well... I wanted to... introduce you to, ah," he sees her expression darken even more and hurries on, "to your granddaughter. And her wife and friend." That gets the expression to go confused and startled. Which is better?

Marian gives a shallow bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," she says, using the respectful gesture to hide her expression. _What did I just say about lying?_ "I am Lady Sage Marian Tethras Hawke, at your service."

Brienne looks a touch taken aback by this. "Lady Sage?" She gives Malcolm a dubious look, then harrumphs. "Well, no sense standing about outside. Best you all come in." She leans out of the door for a moment. "And shush it, Miss Trixie. No need to be hissing at guests. Or family, I suppose," she adds, giving Malcolm another hard look before she steps inside.

She leads the four inside, waving them to sit in the small living room. "So what's this about exactly? One of your blow-bys finally manage to chase you down?" Her tone seems more scratching towards her son than her granddaughter. Matter of fact, she sounds almost approving when she's referring to Hawke in the sentence.

"Ah... well, after a fashion?" he says weakly. "It was... something of a coincidence really. Marian's a good lass and... she deserves better than me," he says honestly. "I thought that maybe it would be... nice for her to met you."

"We're on our honeymoon," the half-elf supplies. "It's coincidence that Malcolm here lived in the same town as my wife's family, and we agreed to travel together here for our next destination." She smiles warmly.

Merrill reaches over to take Hawke's hand in her's, giving her wife a sappy smile. "It's become something of a family trip really. Hawke's father Malcolm, her papa Varric, my... grandmother Marethari, and two more of our Clan," she chirps happily. "Zevran is back at the inn, I think- he's sorta our husband except he doesn't like the institution of marriage much, at least as a personal choice. And Aveline," Merrill shifts her smile towards the redhead for a moment, "is Hawke's girlfriend? Is that the right word you like?"

Aveline looks a touch mortified but more amused. "That's... not inaccurate. A bit... silly sounding at our ages but accurate enough I suppose. Beloved perhaps?"

Malcolm, who had looked a bit grey at Merrill's word deluge, double-takes at the end of it. Across the living room, Brienne looks... wary. "Are the two of you married or not?""

"We are," Hawke replies simply. "I would have preferred a triple wedding, but my other two loves both brought up valid points."

Brienne studies Hawke for a moment, then nods slightly. "Well, you seem to deal with your wandering eye a lot better than your father," she says tolerantly. "And you're fine with her doing all this?"

Merrill blinks. "Zevran is _our_ lover. And I'd not mind being with Aveline, she's just not interested in having sex with anyone but Hawke," she says brightly.

Aveline flushes a little. "I am prefer not to talk about that sort of thing with... anyone but Hawke as well," she says tightly. Merrill winces a little and mumbles a 'sorry' which Aveline accepts with a forgiving smile.

"I don't hide what I-- my loves," Hawke says, correcting mid-sentence. "We don't keep secrets from each other."

"Except surprise gifts. And parties. And privacy is still a thing. Oh and sometimes, trust supersede openness and honesty in that we can trust that the secrets the other people in the Clan are secrets they have a right to having or only to share with some people because love doesn't mean you have a right to every little bit of a person," Merrill says stoutly.

"Been working on that for a bit, little flower?" Aveline asks with a fond look. Merrill sticks her tongue out at the older woman, looking pleased by it nevertheless.

Brienne nods slowly. "Well, you must take after your mother- whoever she is, I stopped being able to keep track of Mal's wandering a long time ago- in regards to relationships."

Marian frowns, just a little. "I don't. But I'm told I take after my Papa in many regards."

"Ah. Adopted then, were you? Lucky girl, you were then, to have someone to step in after this one," she glares at her son, "abandoned and neglected you as he does."

Malcolm's face hardens. "I-" he cuts himself, not wanting to get into a fight and ruin this for Marian. She deserves better, he owes her more than that.

"I was," Hawke agrees. "It worked out for the best, really. Papa and I are made for each other. I'm grateful to Malcolm for putting me in a position to meet Papa Varric." She smiles benignly, only lying a little. Of all the hurts she would go back and mend, somehow, her father abandoning her is the smallest of them. Really, as long as she's fixing lives with some hypothetical time travel spell, she might just leave that one alone. Bethany's death is more important to fix.

Malcolm ducks his head, hurt but not really wanting everyone to see it. He... he knows he's not a great person. That he's a... well, he's a bad father. That's a hard thing to accept about yourself. But if he's going to make it right, make himself better, then he has to accept what he's done. He'd convinced himself that Raynare's attention would be able to make up for his flaws but that's clearly not a safe bet. So. He has to become a better person, a better father, if he's going to start a family with his wife.

Aveline reaches over to rest a hand on Hawke's shoulder supportively. "Hawke's done better for herself than just that- not that Varric is a bad start," she adds, a far cry from her first opinion of the dwarf. "She's built herself a rather large family, albeit a somewhat- okay, a very strange one. Plus, being a Guiding Light of Nyra, a hero and a successful business woman."

"Bah, my little clinics are nothing compared to Zevran's business. That man is a genius." Marian blushes faintly, making it clear she's rejecting the praise out of modesty.

"Those aren't really a business, those are a charity. I meant your three bookstores and the general goods store in Fortieth," Aveline corrects Hawke.

She stares at her, baffled. "What?"

Aveline frowns slightly. "That paperwork crossed my desk a few weeks ago. You've bought out two bookstores in Lily- well, silent investor, I think the term is? You own the place, but the previous owners still run it. And bought a stand in the Bazaar outright. The store in Coalside was up for sale as the previous owners passed on peacefully without an heir. Been around for ages, one of those 'everyone goes there' stores- Relly's Goods and Foods?" she explains. "Did... did you not...?"

Merrill has suddenly started whistling. Badly. For no reason.

Marian rubs her face. "I'm sure _I_ did," she says, putting subtle emphasis on the pronoun to cast some doubt. "I must have forgotten. Thank you."

"Maaaybe?" Merrill says with wide, innocent eyes. "Or... maybe it was a gift faerie?"

Brienne raises a slim eyebrow, expression neutral as this plays out.

"A... gift?" she repeats, blinking. "I had assumed-- well, of course. A wedding present. I'll have to find out who it is and thank them personally, later."

Aveline snorts. "Right... who else would it be aside from a too clever dwarf with a lack of concern regarding proper legal processes?"

"Tech-nic-ally, it was all legal and such because I might have signed- oh cast, I wasn't suppose to tel you about this," Merrill says crossly. "You have to be surprised when Papa gives you the deeds."

Aveline opens her mouth to explain that you can't sign things for your spouse until they're _actually_ your spouse but... not worth it. Nor a good time for it.

"Thanks, Merrill." She pauses, then adds, "Though in the future please clear all surprises like that with Aveline. It might be... Legally problematic if she objects."

Merrill blinks. "We can have legal problems?"

Aveline closes her eyes and lets out a noise of resignation slip out. 'Grandmother's' eyebrows climb just a little higher.

Marian laughs. "I'll explain later, Merrill." _Maybe I should have told her about the legal complexities of that oath sooner, but..._

"Okay," Merrill says easily. She's not entirely what that'll all be about but she's sure it's probably something she should know. "Oh! Did I say? I'm Merrill Hawke. I'm Missus Hawke, she's Lady Hawke. Rather handy you're all a noble now, or we'd beth be Missus and that would be confusing I think?"

"Actually, as Hawke's wife, you're a noble as well," Aveline points out. "Any of Hawke's legal immediate family that swears to her house can use the 'zi' in their name."

Hawke looks a little sour, but nods. "Exactly. Still, however you prefer to be addressed," she mentions.

Merrill considers this carefully, going quiet as this matter is given the deep thought it deserves.

"Well. Regardless of your name, congratulations on your nuptials," Brienne says to Hawke. "Seems you're done right well for yourself."

"She's a magus- a warrior mage of some kind, right?" Malcolm chimes in, clearly proud.

"More or less, yes. It means I'm a lot more capable in combat than your usual mage."

"Right. And her wife Merrill is a shaman. And her..." Malcolm falters a moment as he processes the whole girlfriend/beloved' thing from a minute ago.

"I'm a guard captain in Nyra by trade, but I've sworn vows as a paladin of Vangal," Aveline supplies smoothly, not looking at Malcolm. She's not been entirely sure he'd been flirting rather than just being charming but this rather confirms it. Which is... a touch awkward.

"Well, that all sounds rather lovely," Brienne says with a faint smile. "You all seem to have you lives rather well together." She gives Hawke a look, though the glint suggests she teasing. "I seem to have missed out on the grandbaby step... so when can I expect great-grandbabies?"

The half-elf laughs. "Merrill and I were just discussing that the other day. We definitely plan to have at least one. Probably several. Likely soon."

"Really?" Aveline says in surprise. "I... hadn't realized you were ready for that. You're both still rather young, racially I mean. How... Zevran I imagine? Or adaption?"

"You can be Lady zi'Hawke and I'll be Misses zi'Hawke," Merrill decides. "I don't think I'd be good at nobling, or enjoy it really, but zi'Hawke sounds funny." A pause. "Oh, and we might adopt but I definitely want at least one baby of Hawke's. Like, from her of her. Unless she really doesn't want to."

Hawke lifts Merrill's hand to her lips and kisses it. "For you, Missus zi'Hawke, anything."

"Perhaps something for the Clan to discuss in more detail alone?" Aveline suggests lightly. Merrill nods absently as she stares at Hawke with a goofily besotted expression.

"Babies are a very serious choice to make," Brienne agrees, another hard look at Malcolm. "Take a lot of work, a lot of coin, and a lot of time to raise properly. Lot of love and patience too."

"Love and patience we have in spades. Though, I am curious -- was Malcolm a difficult baby?"

"All babes are difficult- it's just that they're worth it. No, he was fine as a babe. It was after that he began to... well," the elderly elf trails off. "I suppose you'd know his failings even better than I. Still, suppose it's not all bad, given you've done fairly well for being a bastard and all. Good station, good family. Seem healthy." Her tone is matter-of-fact, not judging her for being born as she was- clearly, what shame she considers attached to her status all falls on Malcolm, and perhaps Leandra, not Marian.

_0His failings..._ Marian swallows the question she's yet to ask, or is it questions plural? Instead, she nods. "My chosen-family, anyway. I can't say the same for my blood family. But, I'll say, Malcolm's probably the best of the lot." She smiles.

"Is he now?" Brienne says dryly.

Aveline clears her throat. "Immediate family, I suspect she meant."

"I did say probably," the hero retorts. "All I know of you is how much you dislike your son. Rather a sore spot, you understand." She's joking; her mannerisms are playful. Still, there's an edge to her words that can't be denied.

Brienne looks startled a moment, then laughs. "Fair point, fair point. Well, go a head and ask a bit. Not much to hide really, lived a slow life really. Most exciting thing I can recall ever happening to me is finding Miss Trixie's grandmother's egg out in the garden oh, about a hundred and fifty years ago, give or take a decade or two. No idea where Miss Priss's mother went or why she thought my turnips were the best place to build a nest but there you go."

_A hundred and fifty years ago,_ marvels Hawke _Think what I could do with that kind of time!_ Smothering her jealousy, she beams. "That must have been an exciting afternoon. What sort of beast is she? I've never seen one such as her."

"Ah, Miss Trixie is a velociraptor," Brienne says proudly. "Very protective, very territorial. Had to stop raising goats- for the milk mostly, you see- because Miss Priss wouldn't stop eating them. Got along just fine with the laying chickens I have though. So did her descendants for that matter, though poor Miss Trixie has quite the unrequited love for our rooster." Aveline stares a bit, then shakes her head slowly.

"Raptor-- I assume like the land-beasts and not the flying ones?" suggests the woman named for such a bird.

"Yes and no," Brienne says, settling into what is clearly a favored topic. "You see, raptors are all related but their not the same a'tall. It's a bit like how... horses and ponies are much the same but not, but more so. Ya see, it's much the same design. Uryll- most like anyway- evidently couldnae pick between raptors that run and leap or raptors that soar and stoop, so she made both. One's reptile, the other bird, but in a lot of ways, they look much alike under the skin. Innsa fact, Miss Trixie has more alike with her chicken family than she does with a snake or even most lizards." It seems that Hawke's grandmother has something of an rural accent when she's not paying attention.

Hawke listens, fascinated, taking all the information down. Over the next hour, she peppers Brienne with questions about all sorts of animals, as raptors give way to birds, lizards, and -- eventually, somehow -- dogs. "How _did_ Mabari and Humans end up so intricately tied together?"

Beka slinks over, ears perked up as if to listen for her own sake. "Well, that one is said to be due to Valshathe actually. The old tales say that humans, not as at ease with the wilds as elves are with the forest or dwarves with the earth, kender with the plains and so forth, wished for a companion. They tried for years, lifetimes, such as they are for humans, to tame bears and raptors of both sky and land, to coax beast of burrow and hedge to help them without success. In time, they came up wolves and seemed to have finally had some luck."

She pauses a moment, taking a sip of the tea she'd made for them all. Well, started to make, as Merrill had sprung up as if spelled and neatly moved to help. Brienne makes a pleased noise and gives the other elf a pleased nod. "But mortals can't really change the nature of a beast, and it seemed they'd never have real success. But... one of them- or perhaps a few of them, who can say after all this time- had the wisdom to ask for help from above. They prayed and waited and Valshathe took pity on them, sending them the grace of a boon companion. A wolf with the strength of a bear, the heartiness of an elk, the cleverness of a fox and the loving loyalty of a mother."

Beka thrums softly in her throat, head up and posture pleased as her Captain strokes her ears. "Yes, that's you, good guard," Aveline tells the pup in Celestial.

Hawke grins. "My little brother's apparently never seen around town without his Mabari anymore," she adds, and for once, she sounds more fond than annoyed.

"You've a brother then?" Brienne asks curiously. "Did he come along as well? Oh, wait no, your wife listed those with you, didn't she?"

"We're not on good terms." She frowns briefly, then takes a deep breath, making effort to put the smile back on her face. "I had two younger siblings -- twins, Carver and Bethany, both full siblings and humans. Bethany unfortunately was killed -- I don't know if news about Golden Shores reached here, but that's where we grew up." News about a town like this one being entirely wiped off the map by demons, of course it's reached here, but...

"My mother and my uncle are both deceased as well, so it's just Carver and I these days, and we have... bad blood between us. That's part of why I was interested to meet you. I've never had a grandmother before."

Brienne's face softens a bit. "Of course you have, dearie, we just didn't know it until today," she replies gently, reaching across the gap between their sofas to take Hawke's hand. She'd heard about Golden Shores- how could she not, it being the closest town to here. Well. Was.

Marian's allergies come back to haunt her then, causing a bit of tearing up in the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, [grandmother]."

Brienne blinks a little, then smiles. She glances at Aveline as she clears her throat. "You speak elven, missy?" At Aveline's nod- the guard more focused on spoiling Beka a bit- Brienne's smile widens a little, and she switches languages. "Good then. My common's never sat easy on my tongue. Too brisk and halting."

"Pretty much all of us speak elven, grandmother-electi," Merrill remarks. "Even the non-elves have picked it up for one reason or another. Well, Papa and Wynne speak pretty much everything... I heard them chatting in giant one afternoon. At least, he said it was giant..."

Marian ducks her head, switching easily to Elven. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. Of course I speak Elven. I made sure that... I wanted to speak my own native tongue, even if I was surrounded by humans." _After I finished learning Dwarven in school, anyway. The language never sat right with me until I heard Varric speak it, my teacher's accent was atrocious._

"Oh, that's fine, that's fine," Brienne says easily. "It's probably not a bad thing to get a little practice from time to time. When you get to be my age, things unused have a bad habit of slipping away."

Malcolm snorts, but before she can scold him, he asks idly, "who was my tracking teacher when I was boy?"

"Why Dathian Wilison of course. Nice young man, Mileen bless him. He was killed by an owlbear, oh, four and twenty years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes'ma. And where did Da used to keep his hammer?"

"Third from the top of the wall above the bench, on the left. Why are you asking all these silly questions?"

"Ma, we haven't had that bench or those tools for about three decades," he says dryly.

Merrill giggles. "Hawke can do that too!"

"We don't actually know if I can recall things from three decades ago, given I'm not even twenty-five," she points out.

"Twenty-five? Really?" Brienne _glares_ at Malcolm. "She had best be your eldest," she snaps.

"I- uh, yesss?"

"I mean, I'm Merikos, so we grow up fast," Hawke offers, trying to pull attention back away from this.

Brienne harrumph, clearly not appeased- or buying Malcolm's stammers. "I think the two of us need to have a bit of a talk, young man, after my wonderful granddaughter heads home after dinner. You can stay for dinner, can't you dearie?"

"Of course." She smiles. "I'll have you know, I have zero bastard children and a hearty appetite."

Aveline snorts a little. "Given you've been married for less than a month, you best not have _any_ children," she comments dryly. "Unless you've lost your mind and agreed to help Deep Thought with their biomagica research."

"Bigomagica?" Merrill asks curiously.

"Biomagica," Aveline corrects her. "They sent out a memo slash request among the guard a few months back, asking for volunteers for their quickening ritual. Supposed to speed up the maturation rate of humanoids."

Brienne stares, a bit horrified at the notion.

"Prenatal only or postnatal?" wonders Hawke, curiously.

"I rather suspect they'd be delighted to find out what happens for either or both," Aveline informs her. "The memo sent out by Lord Sage Smith a week later telling everyone to 'say no to quickening rituals' was light on details but 'explosive growth rate in mice' doesn't sound very promisingly. The Doctor isn't often one to use metaphors in official writings." And now Brienne is looking _rather_ horrified. To be fair, so is Malcolm. Merrill is more in the 'queasy' camp.

Hawke winces, picturing mice literally exploding with babies. "No, that doesn't sound good," she agrees. "A shame. I don't relish-- Merrill, how long are elves pregnant for?" she asks, realizing she'd never really asked. "I assume it's a long time but..."

"About fifty-eight months, or about three and a half years?" Merrill offers.

"It's not too cumbersome until the last twelve months or so- that's when your waist starts ballooning out and your ankles swell up," Brienne says with a sigh. "Merikos babes only take about half that- a touch less then thirty months, I think?"

Hawke winces. "Still rather a long time to hang up the sword."

"Don't you mean staff?" Merrill asks curiously. Sure, she doesn't go out with Hawke on adventures much but she thinks she'd have noticed her wife using a blade..." You used your staff last week when we slew that dragon."

"Dragon?" Brienne demands a touch shrilly.

"A green one," Merrill clarifies brightly.

The half-elf winces again. "I have had entirely too many adventures end with dragons. But yes, it's a figure of speech."

"Just... five, I think?" Aveline asks. "Three I've been there for after this one."

_**"Five dragons?!"** _

"Small ones," the hero adds, but she looks aggrieved anyway.

"It, uh, the green one was menacing Golden Green," Malcolm offers. "Evidently it went after Merrill so they, uh... fought it. Bravely."

Brienne stares at him for a moment, then takes a few deep breaths. "Is... that sort of thing.. _normal_ for you, dearie?" she asks carefully.

"More normal than I'd like," she admits. "I'm a hero. It's what I do."

Brienne exhales slowly. "That's... you mean that as the the real weight of it, don't you?"

Merrill nods soberly. "She's risked her life and given it once already," she says softly, getting sharp gasps from both Goldhawks. She gives Hawke a faintly apologetic look but doesn't look overly remorseful at the reveal.

Marian shrugs. "It's the truth. I should probably tell that story soon, but..." She sighs, running a hand through her hair. "I don't want to bring down the mood."

Brienne shivers a little. "I... I think perhaps I'd prefer not to know the details, truth be told," she confesses. "Maybe that's a weakness in me, but there it is."

"Then I'll respect that," the hero says, with a small nod.

"Thank you dearie," her grandmother replies quietly. She shakes herself a little, then asks, "so. I was going to have a nice salad for dinner- boiled egg, some shaved cheddar, dried berries, the works. And I have some fresh squash bread and some berry crumble for afters. Will that be... I know most prefer meat..." Brienne asks, glancing at Aveline and Hawke. "I've some meat scraps for Miss Trixie that your Beka could have a share of but they're not really fit for people."

"Salad is fine, Missus Goldhawk," Aveline assures her. "And that bread sounds lovely."

"Merrill usually eats elven-style anyway, so I'm used to it," Hawke adds with a smile. "And I love berry crumble."

The rest of the afternoon goes fairly well- Merrill and Marian between them manage to keep the conversation with Brienne going well enough. She's a fair simple soul, all told, though she has some strong opinions about proper behavior, but she can talk for hours about wildlife. Particularly Miss Trixie. Which, thankfully, is a more interesting topic than your normal cat-lady's pet. Dinner is decent as well- Brienne isn't a chef but it's good food done simply. The berry crumble is a touch tart, her grandmother not a fan of sweeteners.

All in all, it feels... nice. Hawke doesn't really feel like she just added a Clan member exactly, but... family? Yeah, maybe, just maybe, she's got actual blood family that she can like and respect.


	14. "Not all evil is obvious"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke heads for the Oak to ask a boon, and meets an unexpected new friend instead.

Evening, shortly after the talk with her grandmother. Hawke finds herself back at the tavern having a bit of a nightcap when Varric finally gets back from 'work.' He's whistling rather cheerfully, clearly pleased with himself and the day's labour. He'd already been heading towards the bar but he shifts his course a bit so he'll be able to seat next to his daughter. "Tally-ho, daughter-mine," he says cheerfully in Dwarven. "How fared the day?"

Without Merrill around -- it's Zevran time, it seems -- Marian's face has slipped from her cheerful mask into a glum expression. She gives him a two-fingered wave as she takes another pull from her tankard. When she finishes drinking, she replies in the same language, "Not too badly. Grandmother is nice. Thank you for the wedding gift I don't technically know about yet."

"Dammit Moonbeam," he mutters. "Well, I guess... nineteen days is pretty good for her keeping a secret from you of all people." He orders a tankard, adding that a cask might be easier on him.

"Actually, it was Aveline," she says casually. "She noticed the paperwork come across her desk and wanted to congratulate me on getting into business ownership." She shrugs. "It seems Merrill's gotten good at keeping secrets."

_Right, of course, she's still getting all official paperwork run past her... Sloppy, old man, very sloppy._ "Fair enough then. They're clean, by the way. The goods store I'm sure you remember, the two bookstores are solid as well. The book booth in the market was doing some grifting, some smuggling, but I cleaned it up and sat on it for a year before it went to you so it's fine."

Varric's daughter looks at him for a moment, then laughs, giving him a fond smile. "Of course. Bookstores. Thank you, Varric."

Varric shrugs a little. "Figured you'd like the touchstone in Coals and... well, the bookstores are a steady yield, if not stellar. The stall does better- it specializes on selling stuff for adventurers and tourists so the margins are better. Figure... well, it'd give you your own spending cash and such," he says a touch stiffly. "Traditional for a father to gift their children a... bit of starter to build their new life on."

_A dowry_ , she thinks, and grins at him. "I really appreciate it."

Varric jerks a shoulder, then eagerly drains the mug that's placed in front of him. "[Seems to have had a hole in it]," he comments to the bartender in Common with a wink. The man shakes his head a little but takes it back to refill. "Just doing as I should is all," he adds to Hawke. "So.. what had you down when I came in?"

She makes a face, taking another pull of her mug. "Varric..." she begins in a more serious tone. "If you could go back and change things, would you? If you could fix it so my family loved me, but we never met..."

Varric is quiet a moment as he gives her question some honest thought. "I... I don't know entirely. Frankly, I don't think anything less than full-blown possession would be enough to change Carver and your bitch into a decent, loving family. And then it wouldn't be them anyway, would it? But... if I could somehow arrange to get you earlier... yeah, that I might do."

She nods, slowly. "I can see it. But what if it had to be one or the other? If you could, say... make the gem not happen, but it resulted in me not becoming your daughter?"

"No. Not even the get you earlier thing," he says after a moment. Then more strongly, her repeats, "no. It's too much. I'm not a god. I can't even make a perfect plan in the moment of now. Trying to... change a path and predict the outcome? To try and make it better? What if I prevent the gem and that leads to Merrill contacting Moe earlier? But instead of Moe, she touches something worse because she hadn't see what kind of evil there can be? Or maybe skipping the gem means you and Lawful never connect? That... that was in the top five worst moments of my life, but would not having that entry be worth all the happiness and love not having you, or you not having Moonbeam or Lawful in your life? No. I'm wise enough to know I'm a fool."

Marian nods, slowly. "I can see that," she says, quietly. She takes another drink, then stares into her mug morosely. "For me... If I saw a dragon bearing down on you, I'd knock you out of the way of the blast, no question. If I didn't, I wouldn't be me. And looking at the past, looking at the horrible things that have happened to people I love... if I had the power to change it, and I didn't, isn't that the same? Wouldn't that be...?"

"Not the same," Varric disagrees. "For one, if you see a dragon coming, shout and I'll _dodge_ , thanks. For two, changing someone's past feels too much like controlling them. Like you're taking their choice. Almost as bad as mind controlling someone into living a safer lifestyle or at least manipulating them. And yes, bad hypocritical dwarf, but it's a matter of degree I think. If you undid... the gem thing and it also prevented the Clan from forming... that's you deciding for me, what's more important in my life. Do I wish I'd done better? Kept you safer? Happier? Sure but... that's that damn imp again."

At that, she goes quiet, staring into her ale. She has the look of being deep in thought -- and not the good kind of thought, but the 2AM kind of thought. She... she did sleep last night, right?

He pokes her side gently. "I'd try for mind-reading but you're wearing your ring again so..."

"Sorry," she mumbles. She looks up at him, taking a deep breath, letting it out. When she speaks next, it's in Infernal, and badly spoken: a pidgin, using Common syntax but Infernal words: "I think something's wrong with me."

Varric blinks twice, then replies in the same, though is accent is rather better. "Wrong, how so?"

"I just got married," she says quietly, having to use the Elven word for married. "I have a loving family who supports me. I love you, Papa," she adds, throwing in some Dwarven while she's at it. "And my [wife] and my.. everyone else. I just met blood relatives who don't hate me. Even my dog is doing great." She pauses there, not wanting to say the next words.

"But..." he says slowly, gently easing her towards her point. _Got some ideas, but how she phrases, the path she takes to it, will tell me more than just guessing for her._

"I'm not happy," she whispers. "I have nightmares. I constantly strive to change things. I'm... When I was living with my mother, I was constantly trying to escape, to make things better for myself. I'm still trying. What could be better than this? What do I even want?"

"World's not perfect yet, is it? Slavery gone, sceleratii banned forever, poverty and hungry a thing of the past and so forth? Hawke, you'll always want to help, to make it better. That's just... you." He hesitates a moment, then has to slip back into dwarven, though he lowers his voice even more and keeps an eye out. "And... well, recall what you realized with Lawful before the trial? About battle shock?"

She shakes her head, frustrated, switching with him: "What's that got to do with the price of gold?"

Varric blinks a little. "...the vague and often formless sense of depression and unease that's a common symptom?"

Hawke stares at him blankly. "What?"

"Battle fatigue is... complex, like most mind wounds. It's not just being jumpy or whatever. It can include depression, listlessness, temper problems, addiction problems, insomnia, and probably a lot more. You'd probably get a better answer from Moonbeam to be honest," Varric says slowly, trying to recall what he knows.

_Depression. Listlessness._ She knows the meanings of the words -- she's spent too much time at Summerhill not to have some awareness -- but she'd never really thought about them in regards to herself. _I'm a doer, right?_

_Temper problems..._ She chews her lower lip, glancing away guiltily.

_Addiction problems... Not since the Gem. But._ She takes a deep breath, lets it out.

_Insomnia... When was the last time I went a week without midnight rambles?_

"I can't talk to her about this," she whispers, shame lowering her voice.

"She's stronger than we give her credit for most of the time, but... Wynne or Momma Bear could probably help a bit. Better, I'd think, to get someone that specializes in it, and maybe having them be a step away from things, a stranger, better still." He hums thoughtfully. "Hells, you might be able to talk to one of the druids here to at least get an idea of things."

"What if they talk? What if stories get out? No, I can't let anyone know." _Except..._ She curses under her breath. "They're going to know by the time I get back, aren't they? The trial records will probably be sent back to Nyra."

"That would normally be the case yes," Varric says blandly. "But misfiles and lost paperwork happens. Anyway, healer's swear vows to not gossip, remember? And druids are a secretive bunch in the first place- can't imagine them gossiping with cityfolk often."

"Thanks, Papa," she says quietly. "I... I don't think I can."

"Would... would it help if someone came with?" he offers awkwardly. "Aveline or... Zevran or me or... whoever you ask would come, I'm sure."

She shakes her head. "No. No, I'd... it'd have been better if... none of you knew. But I couldn't have Avaline know and not tell the two of you, especially not when..." _you came all that way to rescue me._

"Hawke, there's nothing wrong with- well, I mean, it's a bad thing to have, but not anymore than getting stabbed in the gut with- err, I mean, it's just another wound. Nothing to be ashamed of having. I mean, Midnight, Lawful and Moonbeam talk to someone about stuff. Hells, so do you already- Mamma Bear. Sure, it's about..." He coughs a little. "Romance stuff," Varric goes with, "but still, same thing really."

"Not everyone gets this sort of thing," she says quietly.

"Not everyone gets stabbed or... possessed by space aberrations either," Varric replies. "And I wouldn't be surprised if most of us don't have battle fatigue," he admits gently.

"You don't," she says quietly, her tone a little harsh, her eyes smarting with unshed tears. "You said as much yourself."

"I'm a lot older than you- even by ratio- and I've not done nearly as much as you. Been through as much as you. I'm just... background help. You're the hero," he replies. _You're the one that really died, not me._ "And... well, I might not have full-blown shock but that doesn't mean I'm not... scarred a little."

"You're more than that." Her tone is a bit more bitter now. "You're my bedrock. You're always fine, nothing _gets_ to you like this. You jump in and solve things without even trying. I'm only a hero because I can't head things off early like you can, because I'm half-blind compared to you and your spies."

"Carver. Gem. Moe. Denaris. Memento Mori. Those chits that went after Isabela. Sharran- dragon or mirror demon. I never saw any of that coming, did I?" he returns. "I need to see what I can coming because I can't stop it if it arrives. And... and again, I have a damn sizable head start on you. Give yourself another decade and you'll be making me like like a Coalside guard, pre-Lawful." His jaw clenches. "And it does fucking get to me. Imp in my ear, whispering poison, remember?"

The tears fall then, and she ducks her head, ashamed of herself. "I'm sorry. I do-- I remember." She wipes them away with one hand. "It just feels so... I feel so... Of all the people I know, of everyone who's been through trauma, why I do come away with some awful problem? Why am I the one who breaks against the rocks instead of bouncing back?"

"...you're not," he repeats. "You think Zevran doesn't have scars? After what you told me? Or that Isabela's ex didn't leave marks? I know you don't think that Merrill doesn't have some damage." Varric takes a breath. "Or that I don't... have... issues from seeing you... on the ground with..." He cuts off there.

_...with Bianca's bolt in my heart._ She makes a soft noise, before shaking her head. "But all of you are healing. While I'm... still trapped in that moment where you were gone and nothing made sense anymore."

"Again, you've gone through more. Plus, all those people I mentioned? They're talking to someone about their baggage," he points out. "Lawful's been talking to someone for like.. three years, I think? Four? Zevran's about that much as well, though he cut the rate of met-ups for most of that time until the Denaris thing. Merrill's been talking to Wynne since she got to Nyra, though she should probably see someone less close." He shrugs.

"And I've had you." She gives a frustrated sigh.

"I'm shit at talking about... gooey stuff," he says bluntly. "Be better off talking with Silence about this."

She shakes her head. "You're good at _listening_ to gooey stuff. And isn't that the point? I tell you the things that keep me up and they go away and I can handle it." _Supposedly._

"I... think there's more to it than that," Varric says dubiously. "I mean, pretty sure I can't be doing it right when I'm not even sure what the doing is? And it's not working so... clearly, I'm not capable of helping you enough with this."

"Or--" she cuts back to Infernal. "Or I can't be helped."

Varric replies in Dwarven: "Unlikely but we can't know until it's test, can we?" he points out. "I'm sure it can be dealt with, we'd just need someone that knows what they're doing."

"You're sure. How are you sure?!" she demands, in Dwarven. "How can you possibly look at this, at me, and be sure?"

"I have faith in you," he replies easily. "You might bend, you might chip. Maybe even break. But you get back up. You keep trying and you do better next time. And we'll help you. All of us."

_Faith... in this sense, Faith is a lot like Trust._ She looks at him for a moment, then lowers her head. "Okay," she whispers, trying her best to accept his trust. "I-- I'll do my best."

"I know you will," Varric says, sounding almost a little regretful. "Not sure you know how to _not_ give something your best sometimes. You just say how I- we- can help. However we can."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she points out, gently.

"Sometimes... sometimes I wish you could... do less. Give less of yourself. Save something for yourself." He shrugs a little. "Yeah, that person wouldn't be you but sometimes I think it anyway."

"Why would I?" she asks quietly. "Then there wouldn't be enough to save the people I love."

"Sometimes, we'd not mind saving ourselves. Or you, for that matter. For instance, with this. Please, _please_ , ask for help with this, Hawke," Varric pleads. "If not to make it easier on yourself," which he thinks it would, "then to help make your Clan feel needed."

She is quiet for a long moment. "Do you think they'll still trust me if they know the details?" _Trust them,_ her inner Varric chimes up, but she shushes it. _Real Varric is right there. Let him actually consider the matter instead of repeating pithy slogans in my head._

"Lawful seems to know most if it already, more than we'd expected to be telling her anytime soon and she still trusts you. Moonbeam would trust you if you revealed you were a opiate swilling drunk with a gambling problem. Tied you to a bed and detox you until your first grey hair, but trust and love you anyway. Because Merrill." He shrugs. "And so forth and so on. So yeah. Trust them to trust you. Have any of them every really asked you to be perfect in the first place?"

She starts to answer, stops, thinks. "No," she says, finally. "But every time I've failed, it's one of you that gets hurt."

"By that logic, every time you get hurt, it's because _we_ all failed _you_ ," he points out. "Do you still love, trust and so forth the lot of us?"

"You said it yourself -- I'm the hero. It's my job to protect all of you, not the other way around."

"Heros have to save everyone- we're just focused on the Clan," Varric explains. "Okay, Lawful is a paladin so she's honestly a hero as well. But mostly, just us."

"Normal people can't prevent the sort of... Even if my mother had been a good mother, she could never have saved Bethany. Carver could never have protected his twin from her own magic. That's hero work."

"Not hero work to talk to you. Hug you, be there for you," he says softly. "And... soldiers and guards keep people safe every day. Sure, maybe not as well or from as nasty as the things you do, but don't count out the normal folks. Not that any of us are normal really. Maybe Mamma Bear. And even she'd probably rip a balor in half if it looked at the twins funny." _Probably die in the doing, but you should never discount the kind of damage someone willing to give everything can do. Case in point: his stupidly wonderful daughter._

She nods. "But it's not the Guard's fault if someone gets killed anyway. They do they best they can, and that's all you can ask for. That's all I'll ever ask you for."

Varric stares at her for a moment, then reaches out to flick her on the forehead.

She flinches. "What?"

" _That's exactly how we feel about you, doofus,_ " he says dryly. "It's not your fault and we'd never ask you to be perfect. So stop asking yourself."

Her confusion melts into a soft smile. "I've seen the consequences for failure. I can't live with that. So I have to push myself."

"If we're allowed to fail and falter, then so are you," he says firmly.

She shakes her head. "Not when it comes to my Clan. Not when it's life or death." _Which it is, distressingly often._

"If we can falter and fail and you forgive us, then you have to accept that you can be forgiven for the same thing," he repeats stubbornly. "So either learn to forgive yourself or I tell everyone that you're expecting us all to be perfect and that we need to start stocking up on horsehair shirts."

"Fine," she says darkly. "Next time I forget to pay a bill, or forget to wear pants, I'll expect full forgiveness. But even you can't tell me you'd forgive Merrill if you left me in her care and she let me die."

"That depends- did she try? Did she act in good faith?" He takes a breath. "Would I be pissed? Yeah, probably. Might take a while, a few weeks, a few months, but I'd forgive her even that. Can't really blame her for- for letting that happen when I did the same after all," he finishes roughly.

"You were dead," she says flatly. "You couldn't have stopped me."

"Then I shouldn't have died," he counters. "If I was better- if I was as good as you insist you have to be- then I wouldn't have died so I could have stopped you from needing to... die." A beat. "Wasn't really dead anyway. Just... mostly dead, which means a little alive still."

_You can't just not die_ , she starts to argue, but that's probably his point. A moment later, she shakes her head. "I didn't die for you specifically, Varric. I died because I was stupid and got myself in over my head and that was the only way out."

"Right, because the rest of us were just strolling along. Hawke, you stumbled into the kind of threat that can end entire cities and foiled it without any warning or prep time. Fuck off with your 'I was stupid' nonsense," he says with a glare.

She shakes her head. "I don't know what they told you, but I disrupted a ritual in progress, grabbed at the threads of magic itself and yanked. That's the kind of stupid stunt that levels cities."

"As opposed to having our souls ripped out and our shells used as undead minions? And possibly having our souls bound into some other kind of fucked up undead?" he points out. "Personally, I'd rather just have the big boom."

"We weren't chanting. We'd have lived. This could have destroyed Nyra. Every man, woman, and child. It was already reaching for the graveyards," she admits, squaring her shoulders. "It was spreading, the effect. I had -- I had choices. If I hadn't grabbed for it, I could have tried to dispel the effect, but once I did... dying was the best case scenario."

"From the reports I read afterwards, I got the impression that only an archmage with a slant toward necromancy or a full blown fucking miracle could have prevented the ritual from doing something very, very horrific. Even killing the prick would have killed everyone within a few hundred yards with the backlash. You doing what you did... as much as if burns to say, you did the best thing you could possibly have done," he grits out.

She sighs. "Grabbing the spell like that... it wasn't-- I almost--" She shakes her head, switching back to Infernal. "I wanted to use the power. I thought I could... I knew you wouldn't want that, but I tried anyway. If Merrill hadn't gotten you up while I was picking it apart..."

"You're right about not wanting that," he says firmly. "I'm sure there are perfectly nice undead but that's not- no. Never for me, not for anything. But... I could see the temptation. That amount of power, right at such a... pivotal moment... yeah, I can't blame you for being tempted."

"I was hoping... With that much power, I could... I could get you back, really you, not just your shell." she whispers. "I didn't think about it. I just ran for it."

"I don't think... that sort of power could give something... could bring someone back that's really anyone," he says softly. "Nothing that would come from that sort of power could be good."

"I don't know that I'd have cared," she whispers, in Dwarven this time.

"...if the power left any of you left, you would have," Varric says firmly. "Maybe not at first, but you would have." He doesn't comment on what he thinks the odds of the power leaving anything of Marian Tethras Hawke intact would have been. "And this is just a single day of the shit you've had to deal with. So yeah, you need to talk with someone that knows what they're doing," Varric adds even more firmly.

"I don't think you can point to the worst day of my life and tell me it was just an example," she says darkly. She winces a moment later. _Sorry, Bethany._

"Once you hit top five, 'worst' can be a bit murky," Varric offers, seeing the wince. "And yeah, that might be one of the worst, but it's not alone on that list by a long shot, is it?"

"It's spectacularly bad. There's.." she thinks, frowning. "Maybe three, four days like that in my whole life." _When Varric shot Anders. When Merrill was taken. Bethany's death._ "After that, it's a long drop to the next tier. Zevran saying those things to me, maybe. Being stabbed, maybe. Nothing that bad."

"Right... and any of your 'second tier' stuff is enough to warrant a year of talks," he points out. "Astea's sake, Hawke, your own brother came within an elf's beard of killing you and that doesn't make your top five."

_It wasn't that bad_ , she starts to argue, but she hears the words and bites them back before she can say them. "...I'm really in a bad way tonight, aren't I?"

"I... honestly, I think you might have been in a bad way for a year or more, and... we just didn't notice. We... failed you, plain and simple. Didn't notice you bleeding out right in front of us," he says bitterly.

"Don't talk like that," she says quietly. "This is just... I'm just... it's been a rough week, is all."

"Don't talk like you do, you mean?" Varric asks pointedly. "We failed you. You've been hurting for years and it took you almost snapping for us to pay the fuck attention."

"I've always been hurting, as long as you've known me. How were you supposed to know this was different?"

He shrugs a little. "Just... should have. If we'd paid more attention or... know more. Done better..." He sighs softly. "Doesn't matter how, just that we didn't."

She wants to argue, but instead, she takes a moment, stares into her mug. "Is that... really how I sound?" she asks, quietly.

Varric gives a faint smile. "Yeah, you do sometimes. Not always, but... yeah. Worse lately, now that I'm looking for it. Wasn't entirely an act, I do feel guilty about not seeing this sooner but... "

She stays silent a moment, then sighs. "I want to.. crush you up tight in my arms and not let go," she whispers. "It must be hard, being my family."

"..." Varric squirms a little. "A quick hug here or we can take that cask back to my room," he mumbles.

"I won't," she assures him. "I just mean -- I must have been very trying over the years."

"Trying... yeah, maybe. But worth it," he says softly. "Don't doubt that."

She sighs. "I hope so. I plan to-- to be less trying in the future, if I can."

"Eh, if you get help and get healing, I'll be happy," he says warmly, clapping her on her shoulder.

_That's right, I haven't--_ She takes a deep breath. "I will definitely at least talk to you about this more in the future."

"...that'll do for now, but I'm warning you upright that I'm going to push for you to talk to a professional," he says almost airly.

She nods. "I plan to -- I have to. Court order. It's just, do I start here or in Nyra?"

"Well... I mean, it wouldn't hurt to talk to me and maybe Lawful. She's a steady sort and probably more familiar with how to help," Varric says after a moment's thought.

She nods. "She was..." She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "She kept me grounded when I freaked out. She was the one who realized what was really wrong with me. I-- I thought I was losing control of my magic."

Varric winces, knowing perhaps best after Hawke herself how touchy that is for the merikos elf. "Some of those that I've worked with or that worked for me, with this... they'd lash out when startled or when having a flashback. Or even if they just got too stressed out. So... it wasn't your magic. I'm also... shit. What does she drink, I need to buy her a bottle or something as thanks."

She nods, slowly. "I was halfway out of the tent when she tackled me. It was... I didn't have a clear plan, but you'd have hated the ones I was thinking." She takes a deep breath, staring at her mug. "She drinks wine, mostly. Port sometimes," she adds.

Varric reaches over to flick her on the ear this time. "Bad daughter, no beer," he says, taking her mug as he withdraws his hand.

She clings to the mug. "Mine," she growls playfully.

"Brat," he says, taking up his own mug. "Port... huh... wouldn't have thought that for her. Think I can get my hands on a nice vintage bottle or two for her though..." He glances at her. "Think you'll be able to sleep tonight?"

She ducks her head sheepishly. "No, probably not. Did you bring any of your kit?"

Varric gives her an arched look. "Do you mean my extract stuff or a booze stash?"

"I meant the former, but the latter sounds better and better," she jokes.

"Well, the best of the sleeping tonics will give you the runs if you're too done in when you take it, so maybe another time on that," he suggests. "It's pretty late- ready to turn in now? Should only take me ten minutes or so to brew up."

She nods. "Thank you, papa."

The pair leave the bar and head up to their rooms. They chat a bit more, keeping the topics lighter as Varric brews. That done, he walks his daughter to her room and- after a furtive glance around- gives her a quick hug before sending her in to... huh, Aveline, based on Beka curled up from the door. Eh, he's not even going to try and figure out how they decide who sleeps where....

~*~

The following morning begins- well, it begins-begins with a bit of togetherness between the two ladies- with a quick breakfast before Hawke, Merrill and Zevran head over the the Oak. Aveline has decided to spend the day with Marethari while Malcolm, a little pale, informs them he'll be with Brienne until dinner. Please summon him for dinner.

Please.

Regardless, the three of them- five, with a Beka riding Bob ranging around them- head for the Oak.

"So what is this about? You mentioned something about... a sap orgy? I confess to being very interested, mind you, but somewhat bemused."

"Essentially, they have this sap that can let me hear spirits. I've always been curious what it's like to be Merrill, so I'm going to ask if they can grant me the boon of a taste of the sap. After it wears off, it's said to leave one very, very randy, and after that wears off, it's meant to leave you famished. So I've suggested to Aveline and Varric that they plan a large meal, just in case."

"...I wonder if they'd have _two_ tastes," Zevran muses with a leer. Then falters a little. "If.. do you think that perhaps I should- if you asking a favor, perhaps just the two you would be better received?"

"Did you know badgers don't pair up for mates?" asks Marian, offhandedly. "Apparently it's not unusual for a badger to give birth to a litter of kits where each kit has different fathers."

"... do badgers also mate with... direrats?" he asks lightly, smile a little fake.

Merrill blinks a few times. "No...? Or, well, not often? I suppose they might if they were raised together or something?"

"Ah," Marian says, quietly. She lifts her chin, then, a stubborn glint coming into her eye. "I don't care. I won't deny you, so if they have a problem with you, they have a problem with me."

Merrill blinks a few times, then glomps them both. "And me!" A pause. "About what?"

Zevran laughs softly, leaning in to kiss Merrill gently. "Thank you, my love. My obviously wonderful love."

More blinking. "Yay? You're welcome?"

"His skin," she says, simply. "His lovely dark skin," she adds, pressing a kiss to Zevran's cheek.

Merrill blinks a few more times. "Oh right, because elves can be silly about drow," she says with dawning understanding.

Zevran frowns. "Merrill, drow are a terrible people, do not mistake this. Please do not attempt to befriend or hug random drow, he says severely.

"Generally don't hug anyone unless you're sure they're not about to stab you," says Hawke, amused.

"Merrill- and you as well- promise me that if you met a drow, you'll be wary," Zevran demands. "It's... _possible_ that some _might_ not be terrible people but the vast majority are. Nearly every drow owns or is a slave and the few that don't are just to poor to have one yet but not so bad off to be taken by another drow as a 'servant.' Drow equals bad."

Merrill's expression is rather mulish and she glances sidelong at Hawke to see her stance. "I'll keep that in mind," the merikos elf says slowly. "But I've heard enough rumors and exaggeration about enough kinds of people that I'm not going to start firing based on dark skin or anything like that."

"One of their greatest honors for a noble house is for their matron or heir fuck a sceleratis sent by the Iron Bitch and birth an abomination," he says flatly. "It is not their skin that marks them as evil, it is their hearts and culture."

"Assuming that's true, don't they live in the Underdark? Since I never plan on visiting such a place again, I'm pretty sure any I run into are going to be exceptions here," she comments lightly.

"Or raiding parties, spies, scouts and so forth," he replies stoutly, then takes a deep breath. "Just... promise me you will take care and be wary should you encounter a drow, either on the surface or-"

"Well! This is a strange and wondrous day, to see a cousin in the arms of not one but _two_ beautiful ladies of elven blood!" a cheerful elven voice calls out. "Almost enough to wonder if I had accidently managed to copy myself, in fact."

Merrill peeks over Zevran's shoulder and lets out an excited noise at the sight of a merikos drow that could easily pass as Zevran's brother. Long white hair, trim body, gorgeous face with pouty lips and soulful eyes as well as light grey skin. He's also got similar fashion sense, given he's only wearing a pair of tight leather trousers. Well, the longbow and leather gauntlet running from his left shoulder to wrist is different.

"Greetings," Hawke calls in elven, with a smile. She squeezes Zevran's butt as if to reassure him that it'll be fine, then steps forward. "I am Sage zi'Hawke, and this is my wife Merrill and my beloved Zevran."

"Greetings and welcome, oh lovely Ladies and handsome Lord! I am Jassinth, a local and devotee of Raplin. What brings you to our small but much beloved town?" He asks with a quick but graceful bow.

Merrill giggles lightly and dips a courtesy. Marian nods, giving a small bow herself. "We had hoped to seek a boon from your elders, truth be told. But otherwise, we are simply travelling for a time and meeting family."

"Oh? Family you say?" he asks with interest, eyes flicking to Zevran.

"Oh yes. Our Hawke has a grandmother here," Merrill burbles happily. "She's rather nice, if a bit stuffy."

"Ah, that sounds... better than average," Jassinth replies with an amused smile. "Would you care for a tour guide? I'm training at the Oak," he adds.

"I would love a tour," Marian agrees promptly.

"Hawke," Zevran hisses softly. _What did I just say?_

Merrill skips over to Jassinth, beaming. "You said you were a local? Have you always lived here? What do you do, is that a falconry gauntlet, do you have a falcon? Or a hawk? I bet my Hawke is prettier but I supposed I'm biased because she's my wife and I love her all sorts of lots and bunches. You're very pretty too, almost as pretty as Zevran. Much prettier than me. I love your eyes. What's Raplin like? I love his song, it's woooonderful. What's the Oak like? Oh, I suppose we're about to go see it, aren't we?"

"Ummm..."

"Don't mind my wife," laughs Marian. "She's a talker. You said you're a local? Were you born and raised here, or did you move at some point?"

"Talker... yes..." Not a breather though, Jassinth notes. That's... unnerving, to be honest. "Ah, well, that depends on how you think of things, I suppose. My parents adopted me as a babe, so technically I was not born here, but I do not recall anywhere else," he explains easily. "They are both druids here."

Marian shoots Zevran a significant look. _You see?_ "How lovely! I'm from Golden Shores originally, but as you can imagine I moved to Nyra as a teenager."

"My sorrow for your pain," he replies in Sylvan. "Ah, sorry. My condolences," he repeats in Elven. "Nyra though- that must be wondrous," he adds a touch wistfully. "I've often thought about going on a trip to see it but... it's rather far and... well. I do love my home." Zevran sniffs a little, watching the other merikos drow warily.

"I do find it an enjoyable city. There's always something new happening in Nyra, it's hard to keep up sometimes, but I've grown very fond of it. My lover and I both own businesses there now, as a matter of fact."

Their guide, now leading them towards the Oak, glances at the other two with them. "You practice group marriages then? Or are you simply, ah, adventurous?" he asks with a wink.

Merrill giggles, then leans in to Hawke. "You're imaged being sandwiched between double men too, yes? Wonder if same dragon size?" Huh, when did Merrill start learning dwarven? Still needs some work but not bad.

Marian giggles, replying to Merrill in the same tongue, "Naughty woman," before replying in Elven to their guide: "Essentially the former."

"That's not a no," Merrill murmurs, eying Jassinth with interest.

"Ah," he says with a smile. "Not common here but not unheard of either here," he notes. "I should ask before we get much closer- are any of you allergic or scared of any types of beast?"

"Giant spiders," Merrill says instantly.

"Really tired of fighting dragons, but no. Anything that might take offense to my Mabari though..." Hawke gestures to the dog.

Jassinth shakes his head. "Raplins's Peace will prevent any beast, tamed, trained or bonded, from feeling territorial or aggressive to any other beast within five hundred yards of the Oak. It is not uncommon to see wolves placidly lounging in the sun not five feet from rabbits and the massive therizinosaurus." He pauses before adding, "and in case the innkeeper or your host did not mention, some of the animals you see might encounter are in fact shapeshifted people, companions or simply friends of us- as such, hunting of any kind is forbidden for ten miles in every direction of the Oak."

"So no giant spiders?"

"Ah, sorry, no. I don't think anyone has such as a companion or friend. Some might be able to shift into such but I can't recall anyone making a habit of it either."

"Good. Hate spiders," Merrill mutters, shuddering.

"Marvelous looking beast, I might add," Jassinth comments, glancing at Beka. "And intelligent it seems," he adds, noting how the mabari's ears had perked at his words.

"Have you never met a Mabari before?" asks Marian, delighted. "They're wonderful beasts. Fiercely loyal and delightfully clever. This is Guardsdog Beka, she properly belongs with Guard-Captain Aveline but since my own Mabari is guarding the house back in Nyra she's tagging along today. She's not legally a guard or anything, but she's better at Guard duties than any recruits and many more senior guards."

"No, I can't say that I have," Jassinth replies. "Wolves yes, dire and not. A few forms of dogs, but not their pinnacle. Heard of them, of course." He drifts over towards Beka, who eyes him carefully.

"It's okay, Beka- [offv duty]," Merrill says firmly, mimicking the command in Celestial.

Beka huffs softly, then sniffs at the stranger's hand.

Marian watches carefully, taking Zevran's hand. _If Beka accepts him, he's fine._

Beka considers the stranger for a moment, then finally shuffles closer so he can scratch her head. She sniffs at the pouch on his waist as well with some interest but only the once.

"I am apologize good Beka, but those rabbit treats are for my Auther," Jassinth says stroking the mabari's ears gently. He glances upwards, guiding people's gaze towards a small speck high above them.

"Oh! You have an animal friend too? The-" Merrill pauses a moment. "Huh. Where did Bob go?" she wonders, glancing around curiously. Hawke, from her position, can see a small tail hanging down below Beka's side, revealing the chuspiki's hiding spot on the other side of Beka. Probably readying an air blast if needed- he's never been as... easy around strangers since Denaris.

"A bird of some kind?" _It's going to be a hawk, isn't it,_ she moans silently.

"Auther is a Skywing hawk," he replies with a grin. "Good size for his kind as well, nearly four pounds, with a two foot and some wingspan," he adds proudly. "And perhaps with a just a bit more growth left to him, I might add."

Merrill giggles. "Oh please call him down so we can introduce our hawks? They can go on a play date and- can you fly yet?" she asks Hawke brightly. Yet? Wait, can Merrill fly?

Zevran, despite his sourpuss mood, cracks a slight smile at this. Jassinth gives Merrill a wide-eyed look. "But who then shall keep me company while my dear companion is away with your own?" he flirts with a sly grin. And there goes Zevran's smile.

Marian laughs. "I can't fly, Merrill. I'm not that kind of mage." She spies Zevran's face, but she ignores it for now.

"Oh... I could maybe carry you?" She pauses, then frowns, looking at her tiny arms. "Or... maybe not. Hrrmm. Oh! I can just cast Fly on you. Well, tomorrow."

Merrill turns to face their new friend. Well, two-thirds anyway. "Can we go flying with Auther tomorrow?" she asks eagerly. "It'd only last for about ten minutes but then we can... dance or flirt more or make-out maybe?"

"Merrill!" Zevran half-shouts, voice strangled. Jassinth, who had looked interested and amused at the byplay and then delighted at the idea of flying, is rather taken aback by Zevran's shout.

Marian puts a hand on Zevran's arm. "I'm sure it's alright, my warrior," she says quietly.

"Hawke- I just- we don't know anything about him except he claims to be a local and owns a hawk," Zevran snaps at her, making a partial attempt at keeping his voice down. Merrill frowns at Zevran, not happy about him being upset, though she's not sure what's going on.

Jassinth's smile grows a little fixed. "Perhaps I should just go on ahead and have someone else met you?" he offers in a careless voice.

"No, that's fine. Please, if you could just give us a moment," she says, grabbing Zevran's arm to drag him a little ways off for privacy.

Merrill slips an arm around Jassinth's, and smiles brightly at him. "So, tell me more about Auther?"

While the elf distracts him, Zevran is less than cooperative about being separated from Merrill. "Beka, Bob, guard!" he finally barks out before letting Hawke win. "How can you leave our gentle flower alone like this after- after what's been done to her?" he hisses. "What is wrong with you?"

"Zevran," she snaps, in a similar whisper. She takes a deep breath. "Forgive me, but I have to be blunt: you sound like Carver right now."

Zevran blinks. Opens his mouth. Scowls. "It's not- I- That is- This is entirely different," he snaps, looking uncomfortable.

"This man had been nothing but welcoming and pleasant, and yet you mistrust him and accuse him of trying to hurt Merrill... Because of his skin." Her tone remains gentle, soft.

Zevran's mouth works silently for a moment. "Not all evil is obvious," he finally says. "How many seemingly cute or innocent looking monsters have we run into while adventuring? Monsters are monsters- savage, cruel and rapacious, even if they look charming or friendly. You can't trust- you have to be _careful_. Especially with Merrill, she can't see darkness, she's too much of the light."

"If he were a catfolk, would you be saying this?" Her tone grows no harsher.

"Catfolk aren't monsters," he replies simply, eyes bleak.

Now her eyes grow hard. "I see. So I should leave Merrill alone with Rosemary in heat."

"Individuals can be evil of course, that's mortality, but that's different than being a monster like us," he tries to explain. "Catfolk, dwarves and so forth can be monsters, but drow just are."

"You're not." She says, sharply. "You're as Drow as he is, and you're one of the few people in Nyra that's never hurt me." Zevran is... suspiciously, worryingly silent at her reply. "Zevran," she snaps, and her tone is ice.

He shifts a little. "I... am... it is nice you think of me that way," he finally says carefully.

Marian sighs, then, turning away. "I suppose you're right," she says quietly. "But if you're a monster, then I am worse. I am defective, broken, and being led around by a cruel monster who uses me to do harm. So then, there's nothing for it but to be monsters together."

Zevran gapes at her silently for a moment. "What?!" he asks in a choked voice. "You- not- no monster- not at- what? No! You are hero, not- what are you even saying?"

"I take and I take and I am never satisfied. I kill. I cover up crimes. I hurt innocent bystanders and talk my way out of prison. I hurt the ones I love, badly enough to scar them with nightmares. I--" She cuts off here, real tears choking her words, cutting them off. _This would work better if I was a dwarf in truth. I cry too easily, he'll see through..._

Arms go around her- strong, warm, loving arms. A soft voice, lilting and trembling, whispers in her ear. "You give and you give and you are always generous. You save and you expose evil. You vanquish villains and convince the repentant to accept justice. You love the ones that hurt the most, forever and always- even when they are not worth it because, to you, they always do."

"And you comfort. You protect. You love. I could never... Can you imagine the Rosemary incident without you? I would have stayed with her, hated myself for not being enough for her. The spring would have been worse than Anders..."

He shudders, arms tightening around her as Zevran tries to wall that tortured, self-loathing and ashamed little boy staring at his half-brother in shock back off from the person he wants to be. The person he needs to be, deserves to be. "I... I am sorry," he says hoarsely. "I just..." He trails off helplessly, unable to explain why he feels this way.

"I know," she says quietly. "... Aveline had to restrain me the other day. I almost left you all. Not because I didn't want... Because of this kind of toxic belief that never really goes away."

He's silent a moment. "I... perhaps this is why you were... made to love so many. So that not only will you always have someone to hold you, but that so they will as well," he says almost... wistfully perhaps? Perhaps 'hopefully'.

"I hope so," she adds, softly. "When I am... In a bad way, the fact that I saved you, that I was able to give you a chance to be your wonderful self, is one of the things that keeps me going. I had hoped... I had hoped you knew how you keep saving me in return, could hold onto that."

"I do," he tries to assure her. "You and our flower are the two... anchors, the two... truths I can hold onto. When... when it gets bad, just thinking of your smirk or her giggle is enough to remind me that life is... that I am blessed. I just... I cannot... always ignore their faces. Their uncaring faces, their hateful voices. Sometimes I..." He exhales sharply, sucking air back in. "Sometimes I can't disbelieve them. What if... what if they were right to sel-"

The ice wedges itself between them, a frozen wind picking up. "Never," she hisses.

He chuckles weakly, hugging her all the tighter for the ice and cold. "It is strange, the comfort I draw from chill," he says, resting his head against her own. "Or, well, stranger to others perhaps, as it makes good sense to me."

_The... Chill?_ She rips herself free of him in a rush, clutching at her gut as she struggles to breathe. Her skin is both cold from chill and clammy, and her mind is a whirlwind around a single word: _No!_

Zevran grabs her again, spinning her around to kiss her with every bit of skill and passion he can muster. He feels... uncomfortable with using sex like this, but he is afraid a slap- his only other idea for snapping her out of this- will trigger a counter-attack instinct. Hopefully this will shock her out of her mindset and refocus her.

She doesn't think; she sees a flash of gold eyes with slitted pupils and she _shoves_ , as hard as she can, pushing him off her. She doesn't notice the rush of freezing energy she pushes into him along with the force, or the way he staggers when pushed, the disorienting effect. All she knows is she has to get away, _now._ She stumbles back, luckily toward Merrill, her pupils dilated, her breathing too fast and shallow.

Merrill shoves Jassinth out of the way, moving around so she's in Hawke's line of sight. "Marian Tethras Hawke!" she says loudly, voice firm but kind. "Can you hear me?" Jassinth accepts the shove and takes a few more hefty steps back, his expression alarmed.

Zevran stumbles backwards and falls on his ass, his lips frostbitten and his expression clearly showing his inner thoughts. Mostly 'I am a fucking moron' mixed with 'fuck that hurts' and a dash of 'shit, Merrill don't touch- oh you're smarter than me, good.'

Beka isn't sure what's going on, exactly, but moves to cut between the two merikosi while Bob floats over rapidly to hover just behind and above Merrill's shoulder.

_Can you hear me?_ The words seem to echo in her mind. Only one of them is a firmer voice, a Nyran accent: _are you hearing me? Not your doubts, your fears, but me?_ "No," she whispers, shaking her head in confusion."I-- Ava-- Merrill?" The last comes out a whimper.

"Yup!" is the bright reply, despite the worried look in the shaman's eyes. "So I think you're have a trauma flashback and I'd really, really, really like to hug you right now but given what kind of things you've been through, that's a super dumb idea until you're back in the present."

On the ground, Zevran winces, rubbing his face gingerly. _Loud and clear, Merrill, loud and clear. Stupid madame, that's me. Frick this stings._

"So... I'm just going to stand here and talk with my arms wide open," Merrill spreads her arms into a inviting a hug position. "And just keep talking and talking so you can hear me until you're ready to be back here with us all and if you want a hug I'm right here but you don't have to if you don't want one. In fact, if you need to, I can summon a no-brain thing for you to smash if you need to instead or we can talk or we can go for a run or whatever you like really!" She continues to babble, her tone loud, cheerful and utterly Merrill.

Marian stares at her wife, the confusion in her eyes slowly lessoning as the elf talks. Finally, something snaps in her, and her eyes widen, then flood with tears. She throws herself into Merrill's arms, sobbing on her shoulder with guilt and shame.

"Welcome back my love," she croons softly, rubbing Marian's back slowly. "All is well. You are safe, you are home, you are loved."

Zevran slowly rises to his feet, lips still pained and his teeth aching but mostly intact. _That was... rather painful but no less than I deserved. What was I thinking, to try and use a kiss to snap back someone that was once raped? Fool and twice-damned fool I. my mind was distracted and stupid, all because of my... issues with... I need to... deal with this. Before I make an even worse mistake. What if Merrill had not been here? What if..._

"It happened again, didn't it?" She whispers, her voice struck with horror. "Did I hurt you? Tell me I didn't--" she chokes off, knowing deep down inside the truth.

"I think Zevran got a mouthful of ice, but he's fine," Merrill says, glancing over. "And I wasn't hurt at all."

Zevran rubs his mouth a bit, then coughs. "Yeth." A pause. "My tongue and lipth are a bit numb, but I am fine." _And my teeth, jaw and head aches a little, but it's not that bad really._ "I am thowwy for...thcarying you."

Merrill's own lips are tightly pressed together. _Not the time to laugh. Not the time to laugh, even if he sounds funny. Not the time to laugh. Not the time to laugh, even if he sounds funny._

Hawke shakes her head. _I hurt Zevran. That's..._ A part of her, a traitorous part, says that's better than hurting Merrill. The revulsion and self-directed anger that comes after that makes her wince with guilt, as if she'd said it aloud. _Do I really think less of Zevran? Maybe I'm secretly bigoted. I--_ She shakes her head again. _Deal with that later. Focus on... Avaline was so sure I'd never hurt her. Hurt any of my Clan. But I did, didn't I?_ She pulls back from Merrill. "I'm not safe," she whispers.

"Of course not- none of us are, that's why we can go adventuring and not die. Most of the time," Merrill says with a frown. "But you're not dangerous to us." Before Marian can object, she explains, "this isn't any different than slapping or hitting someone when thrashing about because of a fever. You didn't hurt Zevran. He was dumb and did a dumb thing and it made you thrash around and you hit him."

Zevran nods crisply. "Y- Agreed," he says. "I'm dumb."

Merrill rolls her eyes, then sticks a hand out. "Get over here so I can heal you, dumby"

She shakes her head, taking another step back. "I was -- we were just having a conversation and -- then he kissed me and I -- I lost control. It could have been anyone. It could have been you."

"No, love, you were having... not a flashback but you were clearly starting to panic maybe?" Merrill isn't quite sure of the right word but she knows what she saw was bad and not just talking. "Also, if you run away, I'm calling healer's right and knocking you out. So no running."

Zevran reaches out to take Merrill's hand for a moment, just long enough for the heal, then quickly backs away from Marian. He's very careful to keep his posture loose and unthreatening the whole time, making it clear he's not a threat.

"I--" _panic?_ She takes a deep breath, trying to recall. Her eyes widen as the moment snaps into focus: the maelstrom, the whirling disarray her mind was in. "No, no, I--" she closes her eyes, taking another deep breath, letting it out. "I was trying not to hurt him," she whispers. "I was worried I might. All because he said something innocent, something harmless."

"And now he knows better than to try and bring you back by kissing you because that's a dumby plan," Merrill says a bit chidingly, giving the ex-assassin a soft glare. "What are you thinking, right now, my love?"

"I --" She chokes back a sob. "I'm sorry. I messed this up. I just wanted Zevran to know how much I love him, how much I need him in my life, and instead he probably thinks all kinds of awful things are going through my head."

"I am mostly think that I am a damned fool to have been so foolish as to kiss someone that has... that is in the mindset that you clearly-" he closes his eyes, disgusted with himself. "I was so wrapped up in my own issues, I lost sight of you. I deser-"

"Bad Zevran," Merrill snaps, glaring at him with hands on hips. "Finish that sentence and I'll- I'll- make you eat Papa's cooking for a week!"

Hawke shakes her head. "I didn't tell you what was happening. You had to guess, and you guessed wrong. But-- I truly do not see you as a threat, Zevran. You don't have to..." _Stand so far away, apologize, feel bad._

"I... perhaps you do not, but- I do," Zevran admits haltingly. He has not... engraved three special words in his heart and soul as his Voice has, but they still mean a great deal to him as well. "Think of myself. Like a... weapon. Sometimes."

"You are not a weapon," she half-growls. "You are my Zevran and I love you."

Zevran smiles faintly. "And I you," he says softly, then adds very deliberately, "I also do not consider you a weapon or a danger."

Merrill nods firmly. "Right. Now. Is everyone okay? Should we go back to the tavern and... rest or something?"

"I'm sorry," Hawke whispers, then straightens, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to ruin this trip." _And where did our guide go..._ She spots Jassinth about twenty feet away, watching all this rather wearily. And there's a bear next to him, one with spiked bone plates and metal claws longer than Hawke's entire forearm.

"Hush now about that. You being happy and okay is far more important than seeing a tree. Even a really nice tree," Merrill says, trying to sell her disinterest in seeing the massive Oak.

_If we're even welcome at the tree anymore,_ the half-elf thinks, eyeing the bear. "How about you and Zevran see the tree, and I'll walk back and get a beer with my Papa?"

"Thought you were coming up to ask about that sap, newlywed?" a semi-familiar voice asks from the side. Granny Peli is slowly approaching with her cane, badger ambling along a few feet behind her.

"Another day," she says, glancing at the bear again.

"Bah. He's just seeing what all the fuss is about. Besides, I'm thinking a bit of quiet and tranquil retreat is just what the shaman ordered," Peli says with a wave.

_The fuss..._ Marian's cheeks burn with shame as she ducks her head. "My deepest apologies for... causing a scene."

"Apologies accepted if you want them accepted," Peli says with a shrug. "Nothing we haven't seen around here before. Lover's spats are now, you know. Young'ens always thinking everything they stumble on is the first time the sun's touched it." She sniffs a little.

"I take you've met them before, Eld-" Jassinth steps back at her sidelong glare. "Err, Granny Peli?"

"Oh yes, we met... yesterday? Or was that the day before?" Merrill shrugs. "We were dancing in down and she and her friend joined us."

"I... yes, that's correct." She sneaks a glance to Jassinth before saying, "I am not certain... perhaps it would be best if I stepped away for a bit."

"Far be it from me to gainsay Granny Peli," Jassinth says with a grin. "She's probably right about you getting a lot of that strange 'peace and quiet' thing my mother is always going on about."

A second later the bear shimmers into a well built half-orc man. "You know I'm going to tell your mother you said that," he says in a soft, rich voice. Jassinth just grins at the man.

"My guiding star... do you _not_ want to do this? If you don't, then we'll go back to the inn. But if you do, or if you're not sure, then we will. I'll be right there with you the whole time," Merrill says gently. "We can do the sap thing tomorrow if at all though." Sex would not be wise today, she thinks. Particularly a sexathon.

Marian hesitates a moment. "I think.. I am.. not really feeling my best. I would want to meet the Elders when I can do them justice." She shakes her head. "But, I can do my best."

Jassinth snickers a bit as the half-orc gives him a chiding look. "Granny Peli _is_ an Elder," he says kindly. "She's not a Daughter, if that helps." Granny Peli harrumphs a bit at being called out- and referred to as an Elder.

Hawke blinks. "Oh! I-- I beg your pardon," she says, shifting awkwardly. She takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "I... have been meaning to ask, by the way. Are there... healing services available here? For..." she glances to Merrill, as if asking her for the right words.

"You start ma'am me and I'll dump jam in your hair, girlie," Peli grumps, getting a giggle from Merrill before she sobers.

"She's wondering if anyone could talk with her for a time about heart-healing," the elf explains simply.

"Ah..." Peli says gently. "That's well of you, girlie, and wise. Not many have the will to ask for help, 'specially not as young as you are. That sort of thing takes time to do well, but we can at least lance the boil as it were. Come on then. We'll have some brambleberry wine and a bit of a chat. Maybe get some apple crisp to go with it, eh?"

"I do enjoy a nice wine," Zevran offers slowly, glancing at his lovers. And he really, truly thinks they could also use a quiet place to sit and maybe talk some things out. And wine and something sweet to pair all that with sounds good.

She nods. "Yes, alright. Wine and crisp sounds lovely."

~*~

Granny Peli leads the group to the Oak, nattering on about every little thing as they go. The air around the Oak is heavy with the scent of blossoming flowers despite the season. It's not overpowering or even oppressive, just very prevalent, a pleasant blend of heavy rain, lavender and apple blossom. Not that Hawke likely realizes that's what she's smelling, just that the flower and herbal tones remind her of how Merrill and Aveline's hair smell.

The half-orc departs with an admonishment to Jassinth to not be late for dinner as his mother is making battered fish for dinner and that's not a meal that grows cold well. The merikos drow gives a nod as he continues attempting to draw Merrill out in conversation, Zevran being hyperfocused on Hawke. Her two loves had deliberately swapped as they neared the tree, Merrill wanting to be sure that Zevran is forced to get out of his head and Zevran needing to assure himself that Hawke doesn't think he thinks she's dangerous.

When they reach the roots, Peli leads them downwards, revealing that there's a rather sizable network of tunnels and rooms down there. Surprisingly roomy and well lit ones, given they're underneath a tree. Granted, the tree is bigger around the trunk than Hawke and Varric's houses combined, but still. Their destination is a small grotto, a cool and dimly lite room with a series of soft moss covered roots around a pool of water that are well suited for seats. Jassinth is sent off then to get snacks and such while Peli and her badger friend take up spots on one of the lowest roots.

"Well, take a seat already, making me tired just watching you all stand around."

Merrill picks out the largest span of root and takes a seat, patting the area next to her. Clearly, Hawke and Zevran are intended to seat in a row to allow for maximum Hawke cuddling.

Hawke sits beside Merrill, tugging Zevran by the hand as if to ensure he cannot escape. "I apologise again for the disruption," she begins. "I am... It seems, unwell."

"Well, then it's a good thing you've found yourself in a whole nest of healers, ain't it girlie?" Peli says with smug tone. "And you can't be too far gone, not if you have a pair of pretty'o's like them two looking after you so nice." She gives Zevran an exaggerated wink, which gets a startled but most natural sounding laugh from the male.

Merrill cuddles into Hawke, trying not to tremble. _Being... all firm and such is **hard**. Really, really, really glad Granny Peli was there to help take over. Not sure if I could have keep from just breaking down in blubbering if I'd had to try and do all this myself. Still so weak... but... but I did help, didn't I? Even when Zevran couldn't, I was able to help Hawke. I... helped. Even if it wasn't all the way, maybe... it was enough?_

Hawke gives a weak smile. "Yes, I don't know what I'd do without my Merrill and my wicked warrior," she adds, an arm around each. "But.... It's come to my attention recently that I may be a.. danger to them."

"Never gonna found out," Merrill mutters stoutly. "Not letting you go, ever forever."

" _You_ are not a danger," Zevran says, almost on top of Merrill's mutterings. "The... ghosts of your past might be, but never you."

"My ghosts don't cast," she replies bluntly.

"Your girl had a point with her fever talk- no rational person blames a fever victim from clipping their healer or whoever. Not your fault, in the doing or the catching," Peli remarks. "You got the air of an adventurer about you. Hero too, I'd wager. I suspect you've got more than your fair share of ghosts riding you." She snorts. "Double more and then some in fact. No shame in having those ghosts, entirely natural. No, any shame would be in ignoring them, letting them fester and rot until they poison who ya are and rot your soul out."

"What do I do instead? You can't be asking me to retire, that's off the table."

"Pish posh. No, the world needs her heroes too much to ask you for that," Peli says with resignation, getting annoyed looks from Zevran and Merrill at her putting the 'world' above their lover. "Nah, you just need to get yourself a healer. Sure, there are mages and such out there that can slap a bandage on it- take the memories out, give you an item that forces your mood to placid if it spikes- but those are all just fake cover-ups. Taking the memories from your mind doesn't soothe the soul and no-one has emotional spells gentle and precise enough for that sort of thing to be at'all healthy like." She shakes her head. "No, you just need to talk it out, face the ghosts. Some of them won't ever leave entirely, you'll have to face them over and over a'ain. But that's life, girlie. Find your peace, find your place and... well, looks pretty clear to these old eyes that you found your people already, eh?"

Hawke smiles sadly. "I have. And my city. And my dog. And I do speak about my ghosts when they trouble me, openly and honestly." The pair exchange a brief puzzled glance. _She does? Certainly not with Merrill, and only occasionally with Zevran._ "But still..."

"Papa?" Merrill asks softly, eyes curious.

Marian nods. "I... Mornings, sometimes, I visit him for a chat and a sleep aid. Ah, last night for example." It's not... often, and not on any regular schedule, but it helps.

"Varric is a wonder," Zevran agrees carefully. "But... given his own... well, given that he's a true dwarf's dwarf, would it perhaps be... helpful to speak with someone more... ah, in tune with their emotions?"

"No," the hero replies quietly. "I'm not afraid I'll hurt Varric."

Peli snorts. "So get a healer with some heft to them," she suggests. "'cause what you've been doing up to now isn't enough on its on, clear and true."

Hawke bows her head. "What do you want me to do?" she asks, quietly. "I'll do whatever it takes to avoid ever hurting Merrill or Zevran like that."

Merrill adopts a mulish look but doesn't comment before Peli replies. "What you're doing is good," the healer says firmly. "Just not quite enough, ya ken? For now... how long ya staying here?"

"Ten days or so at most," Zevran supplies.

"Alright. The Oak be a tranquil place. You come around everyday. Talk to someone if someone is around. Go for a walk, find a place to seat and feel what ya feel. Raplin might be a minor deity, but in this place, on this grounds, ain't not much of anything that can bring real harm to anything. So yer safe as a wyrmling in their momma's lair. So you find some peace here, maybe take a bit of it home with ya to tide you over until ya find yourself a healer in Nayra to talk to."

_Peace.._ Hawke can scarcely imagine it. "Alright, Granny Peli. I'll do my best."

Jassinth returns then, and the five of them- eight, with the four legged ones- enjoy some snacks and a very tasty yet dry wine. It's rather mellow but more potent than expected, which shows itself in Merrill managing to disrobe and slip into the pool before anyone notices. Both merikos drow follow her nude form with great interest- until Zevran notices and starts glaring at Jassinth, who merely grins unapologetically. Not like he made her disrobe, nor drink.

Marian grins at Zevran, then stands. "Anyone else up for a dip?" she asks, flirtatiously, shooting a sly glance at Jassinth. Granny Peli and her badger friend curl up in a corner, snoring in an alternating rhythm; Beka has done much the same in the middle of the other four, watching curiously as her eyelids begin to drift southward.

"Hawke," Zevran hisses, then closes his eyes, clearly fighting with himself.

Jassinth glances at them all, rather torn himself. Obviously the answer is yes, but also... "You are sure?" he finally asks, one hand slowly moving for his belt.

Merrill giggles suddenly. "Oh! Hehehe, there's a spring in here and it's all warm and bubbly!"

Marian sighs, taking a few steps toward the pool before turning back to face both the drow. "I'm going to get naked and enjoy a dip with my wife. You two need to talk. Then, one or both of you are welcome to join."

"I don't need to-" Zevran cuts himself off, instead muttering under his breath.

"Ah... about... anything in particular?" Jassinth asks warily. "I could speak about birds for hours, the woods for days or the wonder of-" He cuts off suddenly- Merrill had come partially out of the pool to get a hair tie from her clothes. Which had involved her bending over at a slight angle to them.

Zevran's eyes pop open at the sudden pause and he starts to say something but pauses himself at the sight, a faint smile forming of its own accord.

Marian turns to look, grinning before she turns back to the boys. She gestures over her shoulder with one thumb. "How about her?" Then she turns her back on them, pulling her shirt over her head.

"It is not _talking_ I would wish to do in regards to- ah, no... okay, just going to ask here. This is going in the direction of sex, yes? Because while spanking can be fun, slapping is not," Jassinth asks firmly.

Hawke grins at the boy. "Ha! You should hope so. Because there's two things my wicked warrior does exceptionally well, and you wouldn't want to see the other."

"No, he would _not_ ," Zevran grits out.

"Right.... does _he_ know that?" Jassinth asks pointedly. "Because I have run into jealous suitors and over-protective fathers with less intense glares."

"Hah!" She finishes wriggling out of her trousers. "Zevran knows full well how astoundingly fanciable he is."

And again, both males are temporarily distracted and united as one by the sight of a pert ass on display. "Good enough for me," Jassinth says cheerfully as he toes off his shoes. "I must say, you are certainly among my favorite visitors already, even with... oh my, those are... very nice," he says, giving her chest an appreciative look.

Looking at the man, Hawke notes that he's probably a little younger than Merrill- well, proportionally. And he's a little more nervous than he's trying to make himself out as. That gives her pause -- she holds out a hand, with one finger raised. "Ah-ah! Wait one minute first -- are you of age?"

"What? Yes! I'm nineteen," he says indignantly. Jassinth strips off his pants in a slight huff and gestures at himself. "Do I truly look like a child?" In fairness, he does not.

"Fun fact," Hawke tosses out casually. "A fifteen year old human, an eighteen year old merikos, and a forty year old elf all look remarkably similar. I'm not certain I could tell the difference."

 

"Ooooh, is that for us?" Merrill asks brightly, swimming over to the side of the pool.

Zevran scowls a little, then huffs. "I am being a fool," he mutters to himself, slowly taking off his shoes.

Hawke slides off her smallclothes and moving toward the pool. "The stick first: if the water starts to freeze or get icy, that's the signal to stop, no questions asked. And the carrot: I'm not joking when I say Zevran is not only the most experienced among us, but also probably the most skilled lover you're ever likely to meet. If I were you, I'd suggest making him feel more comfortable." She has a playful tone during this whole speech, much like Zevran might use when laying out a saucy bedroom game, concealing the fact that the first statement is deadly serious while the rest is a ham-handed attempt at getting Zevran to loosen up.

"I don't think I'd have needed a warning to get out of an icy pool- that's, ah, rather unfriendly to... certain things," Jassinth says with a pointed glance down. "But agreed! And..." He glances over at Zevran and pauses. "I am not jealous," he says firmly.

"I take after my father's human side in that regards," Zevran says smugly, clearly pleased by 'outdoing' the other merikos in some fashion. He takes a deep breath then. "I... I do not know my mother. I have never really wished to. I... have some... deep-seated... issues with that... part of myself that I have evidently not dealt with as well as I evidently need to have done."

"Ah. Well. Would it help to know I was raised by half-elf druid and a half-orc druid? I know almost nothing of what being a drow would mean, other than being able to see in the dark and having gorgeous hair," Jassinth offers. "Oh, and assholes spit on me for my skin. That too."

Zevran winces, recalling a certain homophobic asshole... _Acting like Carver indeed._ "I... thank you. Evidently it is not just my smugly wise hawk that needs to have some long talks with a healer," he admits. "Now. I think we have too eager ladies that would very much enjoy some... wickedly fabulous attention, no?"

Merrill's grin nearly reaches her ears. As they talked, Hawke had slipped into the water, heading to cuddle up with her wife. "Welcome back, teacher mine," she teases. "Help me forget my worries for a time?" Merrill presses back against Hawke, giving the two men an inviting smile.

"And my own, my favorite students," Zevran says huskily as he steps into the pool. Glancing over his shoulder, he adds, "and perhaps the lad will learn a trick or two- if he can."

"Hey! Maybe you'll learn something from me," Jassinth says, following quickly. His eyes are darting between the three of them, clearly unsure what to focus on first. A problem that is solved when Merrill reaches out to pull him into a kiss. She's honestly not as... forward or sexual as either of her two lovers normally, but this seems to have really hit her buttons.

~*~

There's only one hiccup; long into the fun, during a period when Zevran is focusing on Merrill and Jassinth is focusing on Marian, Hawke pulls back from Jassinth as though stung, jerking away from him. When he expresses his concern, she holds up a hand, catching her breath. "Just-- a moment, please."

"Hawke?" Zevran asks, feeling the water chill a bit. Merrill however is entirely glazed, and doesn't notice the water change, only the sudden halting of Zevran's movements.

Jassinth steps back a little, licking his lips as he tries to pull his blood back to his brain. "I- umm- did I..." He takes a deep breath. "Can I- what should...?"

She holds her hand a little higher, signaling for him to stop as she takes in a deep, slow breath, then lets it out. _I'm safe. I'm with Zevran, he'd never let anyone hurt me. I am safe. This is safe._

"Just give her a moment, she's... centering herself," Zevran says softly, resuming the motions of his heads so as to avoid Merrill realizing something is wrong.

"R-right," Jassinth says carefully.

After a few minutes, she says, softly, "Please don't bite me." She lowers her hand, moving back toward him, more slowly, deliberately. "Switch?" she asks Merrill, sliding in to sit next to her, on the opposite side from Jassinth.

Merrill lets out a soft moan as she goes boneless. "Hmammamk?" she manages.

Zevran laughs a moment, then takes a bit of a breath. "Would you like to take a rest while... perhaps Jassinth and I entertain you two ladies?"

Jassinth gives him a long look, then nods slowly. "I have to admit that I am... not entirely, ah, as familiar with that sort of thing but I am... curious," he admits, looking a touch nervous.

"Yesssss," Merrill whispers, eyes still a bit glazed over but bright as she studies the two men.

Marian slips under Merrill's arm, cuddling up next to her. "Oh, yes!"

~*~

Later, when she's finally done, Marian rests her head on Zevran's chest, sighing contently. _Yeah. That was a good idea._

The quartet are drowsing a bit in the afterglow. Merrill is outright napping, Zevran holding her upright and safe with is one arm. On his other side is Hawke, with Jassinth laying his his head just under her breasts. They're all on a rather handy ledge on the side of the pool, enjoying the warmth and gentle current as they relax.

Well, they were.

"Jass? Regind said you were-" the voice- female, elven and middle-aged- cuts off abruptly as she sees the four of them.

Jassinth lets out a mortified yelp and tries to hide behind... well, all he has is Hawke. She tugs Zevran over a little with her, trying to help cover for him. "Hello," the hero calls, trying to plaster on a smile. _Yeah, no, that's a stupid plan, she can totally see him. Boy I hope he wans't lying about his age._

"I- I'm going- I- clothes!" she blurts out, darting away form the pool. In her haste, they can actually her her soft footsteps heading for the other end of the room.

Jassinth lets out a whimper and decides to try drowning himself.

"Hmmm?" Merrill asks sleepily.

"Nothing to worry about, my delicious flower," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Just a very awkward moment, and another milestone in Hawke's sex life- mid-coitus met the parents."

"That's a milestone?" Hawke asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically as she hooks an arm under Jassinth's shoulders for comfort. "Do I want to know when _you_ hit that one?"

"Fourteen," Zevran says proudly. "Though in that case it was a young woman of sixteen and her father _and_ grandmother."

Merrill blinks a few times, trying to come out of her doze. "Wasssn Gammy Pel here?" she slurs.

Jassinth snorts. "I'm not worried about Granny Peli, not with the stories she shares," he mutters. "Oh sweet Uryll, my mother just saw me naked after an orgy."

"Foursome," Zevran says firmly. "Orgies need at least five."

"I keep telling Seli that!" laughs Marian. "She seems to think regular threesomes is unusual. And she's the Ciren priestess!"

"Clothes!" Comes a very firm yell from the doorway to the room.

Jassinth winces and rises to get out of the pool. "I... umm.. she probably means... I mean, that is, if you wouldn't... mind.."

"Of course," she says with a grin as she stands. "Pants for all."

"Dunwanna get'ants," Merrill whines, though she allows Zevran to lift her upright. She continues to mutter and whine as he helps dress her, her complaints mostly ignored given its her own stubbornness that's at the heart of them. Merrill doesn't like healing away soreness from sex, so if she's hobbling a bit, that's really on her.

"Merrill, my silly flower, you wore a dress," he finally points out.

"Oh. 'kay."

Marian dresses herself efficiently, discreetly refreshing herself magically as she does so she won't feel gross putting on smallclothes. She takes a moment to rake her hair back into order with her fingers before Merrill begs for the same favor. Jassinth fidgets the entire time, clearly not sure what the fuck to do in this situation. Finally, he breaks down and asks in a hiss, "what do I do?"

"She is _your_ mother, what do you think _she_ will do or ask?" Zevran points out.

Jassinth pauses a moment, then his eyes widen. "Oh goddess, she's going to what to know _everything_ about you three. This is going to be horrid."

"Tell her I'm a hero and I seduced you with my heroism," Hawke jokes.

"More like your amazing tits and your wife' a-" Jassinth cuts off, coughing a little. "I mean... heroism. Right. Good idea."

"Nothing about me?" Zevran says lightly, pouting in an overdone manner.

Jassinth gives him a dirty look, then rolls his eyes. "Right. Well. Okay, time to face the music," he mutters, squaring his shoulders as he heads for the doorway, where his mother is waiting with her back to them. She's a little over middle-aged, but that's shown mostly in her slowly growing hair. She's in a set of light blue vest-robes, the trim decorated with faux-feathers made from fabric. Hearing someone approach, she carefully glances, then turns once she's sure everyone is clothed. Well, Zevran and her son are still shirtless but that's fairly normal around here really.

"So, ah, this is Zevran, Merrill and Merrill's wife Hawke," he says diffidently. "And no, that's not why I- err, well, got to know them?"

Hawke takes pity on the boy, giving a bow. "Marian zi'Hawke, hero. I'm a guest here and your son was kind enough to show me around."

"Is that right?" she says a touch frostily, giving Hawke a dark look. "From what I walked in on, it wasn't 'around' he was showing you."

_It's pretty round,_ the magus knows better than to say. Instead, she shrugs. "That was more of a good time, I suppose. Still, why not?"

"Jassinth did, in fact, offer to play tour guide, but we were... distracted by various things. In this case, it was Granny Peli's brambleberry wine convincing Merrill to do a little skinny-dipping. Things progressed from there," Zevran says with a winning smile.

Merrill offers a wave, her satisfied smile looking adorable on her face until you realize why she's so sleepy and happy.

"I-" the merikos elf cuts off abruptly, her eyes locked on Zevran's face. Who in turn tenses slightly, his smile growing slightly forced.

"He's a sweet boy," Marian says casually, just so happening to grab her staff at that moment. "Very kind. I'm glad we ran into him."

"Mo-"

Jassinth's question is cut off as his mother pales, then stiffens. "I- I have loved and raised him for near twenty years and I will not just- you tell your sister or mother or whoever she was that I am not letting you take my son away," she snarls at Zevran.

"My _what_?" Zevran blurts back, looking stunned.

Merrill blinks a few times, looking up at Zevran, then over at Jassinth. Huh... he had honestly caught her eye because they look so similar but... now that she's thinking of it like that... Same eye shape, same nose. Their cheekbones are a near perfect match... Jassinth has fuller lips and Zevran a slightly sharper chin but... "Huh."

"Ah!" says Hawke, moving to step between them hastily. "Right, that I can explain. My Zevran isn't on a mission from some drow he may or may not be related to. He's with me. Since I rescued him from slavery, he's been by my side, both in a bodyguard capacity and as my lover. We want nothing more from your son than a bit of diversion while on vacation, I assure you, and that only willingly given."

"Mom- Mom!" Jassinth says, repeating it louder when she just continues to stare. She jerks slightly, turning her head to look at her son as he carefully reaches out to lay his hands on her shoulders. "Hey. What's- what're you talking about? Who do you think he is?"

She swallows, her panic receding partially, only to be replaced with mortification and dismay. "Jass... I..."

"I thought you said you didn't know anything about my blood family," he says softly, carefully. "Why... why are you expecting..."

"People always expect," says Marian, not unkindly. "No matter how much your mother loves you, some part of her is worried she'll lose you one day, and it scares her shitless. Maybe-- no, probably-- because of how much she loves you. Some strange drow shows up, looking like your brother, she's going to be worried. I don't blame her." She pauses, then adds, "If you do turn out to be brothers, though..."

Jassinth pales a little, his expression a touch sickly. His mother's eyes widen and she blushes furiously- evidently that was enough of an indication that they weren't just, ah, working in the same pool, so to speak.

Zevran coughs a few times. "You know... as we are all Clan, that would mean you are finally _that sort of family_ , my wicked hawk," he comments voce sotto.

"Ha! Is that why you're always on me about that? Because you've been secretly pining for a kindred spirit of your own?" teases Hawke, of Zevran.

"He has a nice-" Merrill, thankfully, is alert enough to nudge Zevran before he comments on the young man's anything in front of his already distressed mother.

"I..." The merikos elf takes a deep breath. "You're not... you're not here for my Jass?" she asks carefully, getting a very firm 'no' from Zevran. "Okay. Okay. I... I'm sorry for... well. Pretty much all of the last few minutes. I... wasn't prepared for... My name is Jaina, I'm a Talon of the Oak. Greetings and welcome."

"We're all feeling very welcome indeed," Zevran says innocently.

Marian hides a smile behind her hand. "A talon? I'm afraid I'm still getting used to the local nomenclature."

"Oh- the druids and others here sworn to Raplin are divided into two groups. Those of Branch and those of Root. Mostly depends on whether we prefer animals or animal forms that allow us to fly," she explains. "I often take the form of an owl and my son is bonded with a hawk, so we are both of the Branch. Well, he will be- he's still to take the tests needed to officially become a Feather, the least ranking of the Branch."

Hawke nods. "I see. I always wondered -- is flying as fun as it looks?"

"Oh yes," Jaina says with s soft smile. "It's... there's nothing like it. It's quiet and free and you can think about anything up there."

Merrill bops up and down eagerly. "I can cast Fly, it only lasts for about ten minutes but we're all going to go flying tomorrow- we invited Jassinth as well so he can fly with is Auther for a little while too," she says eagerly. "I can't imagine why I've never thought of doing this before!"

"This excursion seems to have developed a theme," her wife laughs.

Jaina offers a somewhat forced smile. "Oh? What kind of theme is that?"

Hawke grins. "Trying things Merrill takes for granted."

"Granny Peli told us about how we might be able to get some sap from the daughters that will let Hawke and maybe Zevran hear the spirits like I can all the time," Merrill explains happily, clearly thrilled beyond measure at the idea.

"Our brightest flower is a natural shaman," Zevran explains.

"I see," Jaina says, looking amused at Merrill's joy. "Where is Granny Peli anyway?"

"Ah, napping, it seems," Jassinth comments, pointing over at the corner. He looks a bit chagrined at having forgotten she was there this whole time. While they were having sex. A lot of it.

"She encouraged me to relax," says Marian, a little bashfully.

Granny Peli lets out a long, loud snore. A very, very fake one.

Jaina sighs a little, her expression amused and slightly exasperated. "I'm somehow not surprised she'd give that sort of advice. Even as little as when I was a young woman, she was... well, she'd have joined in that pool. And teach you all a thing or two, as I understand it."

"Really?" Zevran asks, giving the elderly gnome a thoughtful look.

"Not my Zevran," Hawke boasts, proudly. "He's the best."

"Now now," Zevran says with a smirk. "Even a master knows that there are always new tricks and... delights to discover, it's just a matter of keeping you mind open to new ideas and experiences."

Merrill tilts her head to the side, pondering. "Is anyone else picturing having sex in midair?"

"...I am now," Jassinth says, just as thoughtfully, then blanches as he makes eye contact with his mother. "And now I'm thinking about- about-" Crap, all he can think of is sex and sexy things and oh Uryll don't look at your mother!

Marian wiggles her eyebrows, smirking faintly. "Adding that to the list," she says blithely. "So. Should we get out of here and let Granny Peli sleep in peace?"

And Granny Peli pops to her feet and ambles over towards the group with a broad grin. "Oh dearie me, dearie me, did I fall asleep? Oh what a terrible host am I, oh I do hope you found someone to look after you in my place," she says fretfully, still grinning widely.

Jassinth... just slowly rests his face in his hands. "Yes Granny, I... filled in for you," he says, voice slightly muffled but filled with resigned amusement.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" Asks Marian, innocently.

Merrill giggles a little. "[Not her he filled in,]" she murmurs in Dwarven. Zevran gives her a look, catching her tone if not her words.

Peli cackles a little at the comment, but the other two don't seem to understand. "Oh yes, missy, I had a nice rest. Very good dreams too, of better, younger years."

"You mentioned having some crisp and wine, but not lunch- would you care to join us in the hall? It's most often just salad and some kind of leftover cold roast but it's fresh and filling," Jaina offers with a chiding glance at an unrepentant Granny Peli.

"That sounds wonderful, thank you so much." Marian does her best to suppress a giggle as she keeps her tone light and soothing.

That settled, the group heads to a communal kitchen area. There are a half dozen or so people already there, mostly elf-bloods, but also including the merikos orc they'd seen earlier. Jaina moves ahead to greet him, exchanging a hug and a quick kiss.

"My mother's fiancé," Jassinth murmurs. "Regind, a Leaf druid. Nice guy, if rather more bookish for my tastes. Rather get and explore myself than read about something."4

"Leaf druid?" asks Hawke. "So, he specializes in plants then?"

"No- well, yes, but no. Leaf is his rank on the Root side of the Oak grouping. But he does have a focus on plants. Harmonious growing of crops- feeding people without taking over the wilderness," he explains with a shrug. "Like I said, bookish."

"That does sound... useful?" Zevran offers with a faint smile.

Jaina is returning by then, Regind in tow. The merikos orc studies Hawke a trifle warily, but only for a second, then turning his regard to Zevran. "Regind, this is Lady Merrill, her wife Hawke and their... personal bodyguard, Zevran," Jaina introduces them. "This is my fiance Regind," she finishes, flushing slightly with happiness. Perhaps the status is new?

Marian smiles. "Marian zi'Hawke, at your service. I understand you specialize in crop yields? I'm keen to know if you have any thoughts on urban farming, as Lord Merchant zi'Oakspeaker has been insistent that the future of Nyra lies in sustainable rooftop gardens."

Jassinth lets out a slight sigh and even Jaina's smile grows a trifle pained. And they soon realize why, as Regind eagerly springs on the opening.

"That's a great start, actually, but given the shear population density of a city-state, much less Nyra herself, that's only part of the solution really," he beings. "You see, while a rooftop garden, properly run and maintained, with a reasonable valuation of nutrition over aesthetics and with a understanidng that a proper investment upfront will pay out over time in spades," he smiles slightly as the pun, "can easily feed a normal density of people per rooftop footage, it's not enough for, say, apartment dwellings. Too many floors under the same room, you see."

Jassinth sighs again, a little louder, then mutters to Merrill and Zevran (though HAwke could likely just make it out), "and here comes the mold."

"The trick is remembering that not all plants need sunlight!"

Hawke's smile doesn't dampen one bit. "You're speaking of the foodstuff experiments al'Hassan is doing in Orzimmar, with molds and the like? But I thought experts decided that while it's great for underground Dwarven cities, the damp environment necessary for growth would encourage black molds and other pests just as quickly? Obviously I can't expect my people in Coalside to bear that risk, not when the public health clinics I've been building are unequipped to handle epidemics."

Jaina's expression is startled, then very pleased and gratified. Jassinth sighs for a third time, and nudges Zevran, head tilting towards the food. After a moment, the three slip off to fill trays for those who had just come in. Avoiding the plant talk is completely unintended...

"You're read al'Hassan's work? Wonderful- he's deeply appreciated really. And yes, his work with mold does seem to suggest that sort of conclusion- but he ignores two very important alternatives. One, and this one is admittedly a bit... unreliable to start up but very solid if it can be pulled of- is to entreat a fungal leshy to manage things. I've actually manged to make pacts with three of them myself and it's been working out very well. Only been three years, mind you, which is nothing for an ageless fae, but they've shown no sign of attempting to corrupt our bargain. Honestly, all three of them seem estatic at being able to focus on their driving purpose without having to worry nearly as much in regards to intruders or supplies- that's my part of the pact. I set up a few defensive measures for them- not the least of which is simply posting some warning signs- and I supply them with compost from time to time."

The half-orc coughs a little. "The other method, which is less... dramatic or easy to maintain but easier to pull off, is... well, bugs. Specifically, ladybugs, thorin beetles and Mullier's butterflies. Between the three of them, they prevent the spread of nearly all detrimental molds and fungi, allowing only the brown button mushrooms, red-vine moss and tannum, brown and rickwald mold from growing. Those are my suggested plants, by the way, a nice balance of taste and nutrition. I would have loved to include pennyworth mushrooms but the thorin beetles simply devour them wholesome and they're needed to keep black mold away."

"Mmm, I see. But does that not encourage the development of spiders? In Nyra we are in much tighter quarters than you have here, and I would be concerned about potentially fatal spider bites out weighing the benefits..." She goes on for some time with him in this way, attentively listening to his proposals, and before long she's inviting him to Nyra to give a talk on the viability of such a project. As they wrap up, Regind looks very content and excited about coming to Nyra. And also about Hawke's suggestion about importing those pitcher plants from far to the south as a nonmobile and non-magical means of managing the insect population without a leshy on hand. He heads off, muttering to himself distractly.

"Thank you. I know you weren't doing it just to encourage or make him feel better, but you did. He... he's very passionate but he can still get discouraged and there's... not exactly a huge swelling of support for his cause," Jaina says quietly.

Marian nods. "I know. I have... some familiarity with hopeless idealists who have big dreams. And, he's not wrong. Impractical, but who knows? Taking dreams like that seriously is one of my favorite parts of being a politician." She smiles.

"I don't know, I think you might be able to convince most of the elves and maybe even a good chunk of the merikos elves, fae-blood and maybe gnomes to go along with. Dwarves too, if you can make beer out of any of that," Merrill chimes in.

Jaina chuckles a little. "I think some of the molds could make alcohol, yes. Probably closer to a whiskey than beer however," she replies. "Have you been a... Light, isn't it? for very long?"

She shakes her head. "I'm the newest and the youngest. Still, I hope to do some good."

"Given the next known seat to switch over won't be for another decade or so," Zevran comments, "it's not likely that will change for some time."

"That just speaks even more to your ability and drive," Jaina says firmly.

Hawke smiles. "Thank you," she says, rubbing the back of her neck.

"I have to get back to work as well," Jaina says reluctantly. "But Jassinth can show you to... is there something in particular you'd like to see before he gets his own chores done?" Jassinth rolls his eyes but doesn't protest. Today was a goddess blessed day and he shouldn't get greedy.

"Can we go up somewhere high? Where we can talk and see really far, maybe over the woods?" Merrill asks brightly.

Jassinth perks up. "I know a great spot actually. The split knot, the branch that broke after that big storm last year?"

His mother nods. "That's fine, they won't be in the way there, sure. It's perfectly safe," she adds. "It used to be much longer, too long really, but the remains of it is sound."

Marian nods. "That sounds perfect."


	15. "We came to ask a boon"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tries again to get sap from Raplin's Daughter, Maeve, and finds herself very welcome indeed.

bestiality"Malcolm's sent for," says Marian, plopping down two pints: one in front of her papa, and one for herself as she takes the seat beside him. "How was your day?" It doesn't matter that she's far from home; a tavern is a tavern, and the worn, wooden table might as well have been taken straight from the Goose for how familiar it feels. The place is mostly empty this time of the afternoon; the sunlight streaming through the windows made the place feel cleaner, brighter, than the Goose ever would be, but there's still a _feel_ of tavern to the place, a feel of a place where you can hide from your worries for a few hours all the same.

The dwarf looks up from his scroll when she plops down, answering her in dwarven: "Not bad. Make another deal, this one just for some standard goods." He lowers his voice, just a touch. "Also picked up a little something fancy for my girl. You know how she likes to paint herself pretty from time to time."

"Nice," the half-elf replies, with a small grin, as she lifts her mug to her lips. "I'm sure Bianca will look ravishing in it."

"Make a man so clumsy with nerves," he replies with a nod. "Lawful spent the day with Marethari... not sure what they were up to, but they were deep in talks about something," he mentions, a little warningly.

"Great," she sighs. "Any word of my adventures get back?"

"...adventures today? Hawke, you went to see a _tree_ ," Varric says with a groan. "What did you get involved with now? Did the tree god task you with a holy quest? You'd had better have remembered to ask to be paid."

"We didn't exactly make it to the tree god part," she says quietly. "There was... an incident on the way there. I'm alright. Everyone's fine. But... Well, long story short, I spent a good chunk of the afternoon talking to one of the druids."

Varric takes a sip of his ale, processing this for a moment. "How'd it go?" he asks neutrally.

"Good," she says, simply. "It was... weird, but not bad. And she had a lot more to say than the usual advice I get. I missed talking to you, though. She had to... I had to explain everything for her, in detail. You understand things, understand how I think."

"Trade off of getting a new point of view, I suppose," he allows. "How you feeling now?"

"Better. A little wrung out, but the midday, ah, let's say fun, helped a lot. Oh! We met another... merikos, with a surprising resemblance to Zevran."

"...a resemblance I want to know about or...?" Varric asks warily.

"Dunno yet. He's adopted, so probably." She takes another pull off her mug.

"Wait, what are we talking about?" Varric asks, frowning a little. "Zevran is adopted?"

"No, Jassinth is adopted. So we don't know if they're relatives. I hate to say all half-elves are related, but they really look similar. Cheekbones and such." _And manhood, sans that tattoo._

"Huh. Well, there are spells for that sort of thing- testing whether people are related, I mean," Varric muses. "Only good for two links, they were developed for lineage stuff, but... could work here, maybe?"

She nods. "Oh, and his mother walked in on us, ah, in a compromising position. So that went well."

"What's her name? I can offer my wand," Varric says sympathetically.

Hawke laughs. "It's fine, I think. Her name is Jaina, just in case. I was more concerned about my reputation, just in case things go south later."

Varric snorts. "Hawke, I hate to be the bearer of obvious news, but anything sort of legit pedophilia or bestiality isn't going to raise any eyebrows in regards to your escapades at this point."

"I definitely asked his age this time!" she protests.

Varric gives her a worried look. "I think _that_ might be what I need to follow up on," he comments.

"Hey look it's Malcolm!" says Marian, too cheerily, as she waves to the elf entering the doorway.

Varric makes a little bit of a face as she looks away, but Malcolm brightens as he hurries towards them. "I love her, I swear I do, but six hours of being in her company alone is about two hours too long," he groans. "By the way, Mother has... 'requested' you and your... other father come by tomorrow for lunch. She, ah, well, I think she wants to... vet him," he says awkwardly.

"Grand," Hawke says simply. "She gets zero say in the matter, since it's all done and dusted and the paperwork signed, but I'd be happy to make introductions." Varric smirks, sipping his ale with a pleased expression. And perhaps a trifle smugly as well.

"Of course, of course," Malcolm quickly replies. "I doubt she'd try to... break it up or anything like that. Just... disapprove. Loudly and often," he add sourly.

"Good thing I don't live here," she chirps. "So. Does tomorrow sound good?"

He sighs. "Don't get me wrong: when I'm not being... bitter about things, I can recognize she's a good woman. And a better mother than I deserved frankly."

_Than **you** deserved? What about what **I** deserved?_ The bitterness shocks Hawke; she takes a drink, trying to hide the expression on her face quickly. Varric shifts a little, the movement not so accidently causing his shoulder to press against Hawke's as Malcolm continues: "But yeah, anyway. I'm sure she'll have plenty of questions, but you'll be fine. She... spent a fair amount of time talking about you today. Asking all sorts of things about you," Malcolm says with a slightly pained smile. "I, uh, had to admit to my shame that I didn't know a lot of the answers to what she asked," he admits.

"Taking interest? That's a new look. I like it. What do you want to know?" _Tone it down, Hawke, don't be quite that bitter,_ she scolds herself even as she says it.

"Well, he did come back this time," Varric comments, thankfully in dwarven. "So that's progress." He grins at Malcolm then, who smiles back, a little unsure of what that's about.

"I... I deserve that," Malcolm admits, ducking his head. "But I'm trying now. I'll... make it up to you. I just... I wasn't ready before. I know that doesn't... erase the past, or the troubles it gave you but it's the truth."

Hawke sighs, dropping the smile. "Why did you leave?" she asks, quietly. "Leandra had one idea, Carver had another, but I want to hear it straight from you. The truth, if you please, or none of it. I'd rather hear the painful reality than a pretty lie."

"I..." Malcolm is quiet a moment, staring at the table. "A few reasons, each of them stacking up on the biggest one. I was serious when I said I wasn't ready to have a child. I was still a child myself," he begins.

"What." Her tone is flat.

He glances up at her, startled at being interrupted so quickly. "I was still- oh. I suppose you wouldn't have been able to... I was only..." He pauses a moment to think. "By human or merikos standards, I was... fifteen or so?" he explains with a faint blush. "I'd had my growth spurt early, so I had a man's height... and elves don't ever bulk up really, or grown facial hair so... I suppose many can't really tell, exactly."

She lowers her head into her hands with a groan. "Go on." she says, after a moment.

Malcolm gives Varric a slightly confused look. "Is... there something about that specifically that..." he says, worried she's going down the same route he did.

"No, she's never had a child," Varric says shortly.

"No," Hawke agrees grimly. "I've been made aware of my inability to judge people's ages, but I've started asking everyone involved beforehand so that's fine. Though I learned today people get insulted when I ask that."

"Still ask," Varric says firmly. "And double check if you think they might be lying," he adds. "I can look them up."

She looks up long enough to flash him a smile. "Thanks, papa." Then her head goes back into her hands.

Malcolm scowls. _Okay, that... stings a bit. I'm **trying** gods damn it all. What else can I do?_ He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. "Alright. Well. Anyway. That... that's the foundation of it all, I think. I just... shouldn't have... I wasn't fit to be having children then. Or... maybe not even now. I don't know. Then... well... there were other things, that all added up.

"Leandra... your mother, she... I couldn't stay all the time. I mean, I was able to travel with one of my tutors a lot, which is how I was even at Golden Shores, but we went other places and returned home from time to time so... 'andra, she didn't handle it well. I never made her promises, aside from 'I'll swing by again when I can' and such. But after she... well, after you, I tried. But... well, it didn't seem that bad, missing a few months here, a year there. Not that long, not really, right? And then you were a child. And then the twins and you were an adolescent."

He sighs a little. "And she... she was getting... we had fights. About me being away and... she... Well, it... made it really obvious that we weren't the same. We'd both been young, though she was almost twenty, when we'd met but... I was still young and she... wasn't. Not really. I- well, it spooked me, and it made her... bitter."

Hawke makes a small, sad noise. "That sounds rough. I'll probably never be on that side of things, but... I can have sympathy for it. But... we were your children. And you left us with someone who was, in your own words, bitter." _And no money._

"I... I never meant to," he whispers. "I knew things were... ending with 'andra, but I never meant to... leave you. Or your sibs. I just..." Malcolm shrugs slightly. "Time just kept... drifting by. It got easier and easier to not make the effort to arrange a visit. Just send money or a letter. And then I, ah, well, I met Raynare." _Right, this is... not going to go well. And I can't really blame her, given what... Stupid girl, a bit of fun and a jape or two is one thing, but what you did was... But I still love her, gods help me._

Varric forgoes a touch of his dwarven stoicism and reaches over to take Hawke's hand. Under the table. Where no-one can see. But till, taking her hand, offering support. Hawke squeezes back as she considers her response.

"I can't really blame you for your taste in women," she finally says, her voice soft. "I've made a mistake or two along those lines myself. The thing I can hold you accountable for is... what will you do now that you know? When you found out I'd grown up and you'd missed it, you decided to come with me on this trip, get to know me. That's laudable. What will you do now that you know Raynare is... the way she is?"

Malcolm is quiet for a good minute. Varric starts to say something twice, but stops himself both times before verbalizing anything.

"I love her," Malcolm finally says softly. "I can't just... I know she's not... that she has a cruelty to her I didn't... but I can't just walk away. Gods help me, I can't."

"There are options other than walking away," Hawke points out. "What can you do to help her grow as a person, maybe? Or at the very least, try to keep her from harming people?"

"I... I don't know. I've never... maybe I can talk with Elder Marthuc. He... he's wise and approachable. Maybe he can... suggest something," Malcolm offers weakly. "I don't want... I don't think she's done this sort of thing since... I mean, I'm not saying it was your wife's fault," he adds quickly. "At all. Just that maybe 'nara hasn't done this sort of thing with anyone else. So now that... they're not around each other maybe..."

"No," Hawke says, sharply. "People like that... She's just waiting for the right victim to come along. She went for Merrill because it was easy and she knew there'd be no consequences. She probably abuses other people when she can get away with it, but you don't know because if you knew she thinks you might be angry. Hell, she might even hurt you if she thinks she won't pay for it." She takes a deep breath, forcing some calm.

That gets a quick shake of Malcolm's head. "She wouldn't. I know- I know you didn't see. But she is a good person. Most of the time, I mean. I almost never travel these days, so I'm around most of the time. I'd have seen it, if she'd been doing something like that. She's got a sharp tongue, but so do her friends. That's just how they... are with each other." He musters up a smile. "I've one of my own at that, even if I prefer backhanded compliments and faint praise types of insults over witty sarcasm."

"I have a sharp tongue. It got me stabbed. But I never treated people the way she treated Merrill. If she doesn't understand how wrong that is, I'm not sure you can make excuses for her."

"I know it's different," he assures her. "But it's not...that's... different. I mean, what she did then, with your wife, was different than anything she's done before," Malcolm tries to explain. "That's not her normal... way. And I think that going to jail and having to work off her service and such, that'll shake her. Straighten her out a bit. I'll talk with Elder Marthuc about... things I can do to... help her stay that way. Maybe..."

He sighs a bit. "Well, we'd been talking about maybe getting ready to start a family, but I think we need another decade or so before we're ready for that, after this. She's... she's never been... okay that I have fi- _had_ five children," he says soberly.

"Five? Varric cuts in. "You sure about that number or is it a guess?"

Malcolm gives the dwarf a sour look, but nods. "Yes, I'm sure. Or as sure as someone can be, I suppose, given magic."

"So the other two are...?" Hawke's gut churns, but she keeps her expression neutral.

"Well, you're the eldest," he assure her weakly. "Which... also did not make 'nare very happy." He blinks a moment, then brightens a little. "Oh! Right- it's not quite- well, elves, like many long-lived races, don't reproduce easily. Some elves are outright infertile in fact. Rare, but it happens. Anyway, the point is that sometimes couple want kids but one of them can't so there's laws that allow heirs even if the parents aren't- Sorry, tangent. You're officially my heir, for what it's worth. I, uh, refused to change that."

"Good for you. Now about Hawke's two unknown siblings?" Varric says pointedly.

The elf's face falls a little, but he rallies. "Uh, right. Well, It's one of each. Brother and sister. Err, not together though, they have different mothers," he explains, wincing a little at Varric's bland expression. "Umm. The brother is a year or so older than the twins. Maybe two? His mother is a merikos sylph, and so is he. Bouswin Gensil. He lives in a small village allied with Sweet Water. Apprenticed to a miller, last I heard... uh, three years ago." Malcolm coughs a little, realizing that time passes. "Your half-sister is a few years younger than the twins so she's... sixteen? Ummm. Oh, she's merikos elf as well. Her mother married and they moved... I'm not entirely sure where," he concludes weakly. "I think Draslina, or somewhere near there? Her name is Daphne but I don't know what her new last name is. Her mother and I... well, when she remarried, she cut ties pretty well completely."

"I'll write to them," the hero replies wearily. "If you have an address for Bouswin, I'd appreciate it."

"I can give you the name of the villager- I just write to the miller and it gets passed on," Malcolm says softly. "Do... what will you say? I mean... you don't know them, do... you consider them..."

"Course she does," Varric says with an eyeroll. "Girl's as stubborn as any dwarf when it comes to that sort of thing. Probably still considers her idiot brother family despite herself. Doesn't like or trust him anymore, thank Alydra, but she'd still help him if he needed it without a third thought."

"They're family," she agrees with a small smile. "But not Clan. Clan's more important than family." She turns to Malcolm then, struggling to put into words for him what she means. "Clan, the way I use it, is the family I choose. Family is just the family I was born to. The gods may have chosen them to be in my life, but I didn't and don't necessarily. It's... Most people don't make choices about their family, they just accept it. But I try to be deliberate about wanting or not wanting someone in my life, these days. Mostly so Varric won't have another thing to tease me about," she jokes.

"Hawke," Varric says almost lovingly. "There will _always_ be another thing to tease you about."

_So... does that mean I'm family or..._ thinks Malcolm. _No, I know what the answer to that is. And what it deserves to be. For now. I can make this better. Make it up to her, in time. I know I can._ "So, uh, yeah. That's... that's all the kids I have. Sorry I can't really help track down your half-sister."

She shakes her head. "If she cut ties, you can't do anything about that. I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to see Leandra again," she adds, real regret in her voice.

_I'm not._ Malcolm winces a little at the thought. _Do I really..? Yeah. Whatever we had once- and I don't think it was ever really love- died long before she did._ "I... thank you. I regret not seeing Bethany again more than her though," he says softly. He pauses a moment, then asks carefully, "do... do you think I should try to write to your brother? Carver?"

She gives a small whistle. "I've been trying to spare you a bit, but.... I think I've mentioned Carver and I don't get along?"

"Racist kinslayer-wanna-be," Varric coughs.

Malcolm's eyes widen dramatically. "I- what? What does he mean?" he demands, voice rising a bit.

Hawke groans. "Easing him in! I was going to ease him in!"

"Carver is like a bandage- or vomiting- best to just it off and out as fast as possible," Varric says sagely.

"And his son," she snaps. "I think maybe--" She takes a deep breath, lets it out, turns to Malcolm, and begins again. "I don't know if you recall how Carver and I used to argue when we were little?" At his nod she continues. "That never stopped. After... after Bethany died," she says, slowly. "The fighting intensified. He -- and Leandra -- blamed me for Bethany's death. When I became a mage, he accused me of demon-summoning and, ah, stabbed me. I got myself patched up and moved out that night."

"Okay, you're done," Varric says. "Drink your ale, I got this." The dwarf leans forward, relishing the tale and the telling of it. "Alright so here's how it is. Your son is an asshole. He stabbed your daughter in the gut with a sword- that sounds weird in elven- because he got pissy she was 'learning the evil magicks' or some bullshit instead of, I don't know, just fucking asking her what was up. She almost died. By patched up, she means she saw a healer skilled enough to raise the fucking dead. And by moved out that night, she means she dithered about for a few weeks, tried to move back in and only didn't because Leandra called her a whore. Oh- good news, Carver is mostly over the magic phobia thing. Bad news, he'd decided elves are evil and rapists." Varric sips his ale.

"Varric Tethras!" Hawke snaps, sounding actually a bit angry. "Carver might be a piece of shit but again, that's his father. And he's not accused all elves of being rapists. He's racist against drowbloods. Which is, sadly, a common problem."

"And he should know what kind of man his son has grown up to be," Varric says bluntly. "And... it's not just drow," he adds quietly.

Malcolm looks at them both in horror, face pale. _My son... had done what? He'd tried to kill... and he hates elves? I can understand hating me but all elves? Even though is own sister is half elven herself?_

Hawke turns to Varric, her tone flat. "What do you know?"

"He's... made some new friends with some unsavory ideas. Hasn't done anything- yet- that I know of himself, but... just be careful around him, even if you just run into him on 'chance.' Even if he's not so far gone to... _deliberately_ try and kill you, his friends might not be so willing to forgo the chance to work ill against a merikos elf Guiding Light," Varric says slowly.

The twice-lived hero sighs. "I'm not blaming you," she says to Malcolm. "But Carver kind of thinks the reason you stopped coming around was his blunted ears."

"...oh," Malcolm says very softly. "I... I can't say that... it was.. actually... if it- the last time I visited, shortly after you became a maiden, I... I had realized you were almost as young as I was when you were... ah, started. That did... gods, that scared me. When I got back that visit, there was a festival and... well, Raynare and I started officially courting that night," he says quietly. "I suppose it was a little about race, but only the age thing. Which is... kind of a big though, I suppose."

Marian offers her hand to him in support. "Maybe you should talk to him. Let him know you consider yourself his father."

"Wear armor," Varric suggests blithely.

"Do you... no, it's worth at least trying," Malcolm says firmly, trying to convince himself. "I can at least write him and try."

She nods. "Before you write to him... figure out what you want. From me, as well. Both he and I are going to grow old faster than you are, and... let's be honest, I'm probably not dying of old age even then. Will that be enough? The few short decades you'll know us? Or would you rather not?"

That sets Malcolm back a bit. "I... give me a minute," he says, studying the table again. Varric rises, snagging his and Hawke's empty mugs in way of explanation.

Shortly after the dwarf steps away, Malcolm speaks. "Even if I somehow made it better, somehow made up for the last decade... you still wouldn't really need me, would you? He's a better father to you than I ever could be," he says softly, eyes lost.

"Probably," she says quietly. "But I don't keep people in my life just because I need them. I keep people in my life because I _want_ them. There's room enough for you, even with Varric around. You just have to want me back."

_Do I?_ the elf asks himself. _Do I want to make the effort repairing this would take? Despite the distance, in time and miles? Do I want to try and reconnect to this young woman, a young woman his heart tells him should still be a little girl? Even though she'll be gone before I'm old? Before I'm even the age a father should truly be, the way she tells it? And then there's Raynare... She'll hate this. She'd been hurt that I had children before her already. Jealous and... worried that I'd put them over our children. And maybe worried that I'd be as terrible a father to them as I was to my kids. But... she is my child. My eldest daughter. One that nearly anyone would be proud of, even with her, ah, unusual life choices. She deserves so much... but does she deserve to have someone like me mucking about in her life? Do I deserve to be a part of her life?_

Varric is back before he speaks, silently setting down an flagon of ale in front of each of them. "I... I don't think I can... be your father," Malcolm says softly. "But I'd like to try and... maybe be family?"

"Alright," she allows, with a nod. "Then we're family. I don't expect you to be fatherly; I wouldn't know how to go about relating to you like that. But we can be in each other's lives. And you can offer that to Carver, and see if that's something he can accept as well."

Malcolm offers a wan smile. "Well then. Family," he says softly. "That'll be good. And... well, Nyra isn't close exactly, not the day trip Shores was, but it's close enough to visit from time to time." He winces. "But, uh, you might want to... remind me if it goes long between trips. I... I've very elven in my sense of time... as you might have noticed. Just a bit."

"I will have Merrill remind me," she laughs. "She'll know if I'm being too much of a pest. We'll exchange letters regularly, yes? So we can get to know each other better?"

"Letters sound good," her... not quite father agrees. "I can do letters for sure." Malcolm laughs then. "You did very well for herself then- I don't really recall her growing up- just a bit too old to have known her well from lessons, and I spent a lot of time out of the village with my mentor, but from what I've seen of her now, she's a good lass. And damned attractive too," he adds with a wink, his default charmer personality coming forward, then winces. _Shite, that's... probably not..._

She grins at him. "I sure think so. Merrill's wonderful. I don't see why everyone at her village rejected her, but, it's their loss and my gain."

"You people are weird," Varric mutters to himself in the native tongue of sphinxes.

"Golden Green can be very... traditional," Malcolm comments with a side glance at the dwarf. _Strange bugger, that one..._ "Good folk for the most part, as long as you don't... well, they don't like having to deal with things that aren't... typical. But you're right about it being in your favor. Hers too, I'd say, given the love in her eyes when she looks at you."

Now Hawke flushes faintly. "Merrill is very attached, I'd say," she says, casually. "Though, she shares my adoration for Zevran."

Malcolm shakes his head slowly. "Not, ah, my kind of thing, but I can't say I'm not a little jealous of your... how should I put it... persuasive ability? I, uh, can't really fathom being able to convince Raynare- or Leandra for that matter- to, ah, share."

"It's not persuasion," she protests. "We just talked about it and this makes sense. It helps that -- cover your ears Varric -- I lost my virginity to both Merrill and Zevran at the same time. We've always been a triad."

"You lost-" he says far too loudly. Clearing his throat, Malcolm tries again in a more normal tone. "Your first time was a threesome?" He shakes his head slowly. "I'm glad we decided he has to be the dad," he says, trying to see how humor will go over. "That allows me to just be proud of your skills instead of all indignantly protective."

"Hate you all," Varric mutters.

Marian laughs. "I had heard of Zevran's amazing hands, and I had to see for myself. Merrill felt the same, or perhaps a bit left out. We spent a wonderful night together and I was hooked."

"And... Aveline is also..?" he asks carefully. _I'm fairly certain she is but... damn that's a fine woman. Married now, but still, no wrong in flirting. Flirting with your... with the lover of close family on the other hand... No, I'll not be that kind of family member._

"Yes, Aveline also. And my dear friend Isabela, and occasionally Nox and Lux, and formerly Anders, and... the list goes on."

"...and you're part of your city's ruling council, and a hero and Aveline mentioned something about running a... clinic?" Malcolm asks, a little disappointed but not surprised at the response.

"Not running, funding. I was... partially responsible for removing one of the few clinics open to the poor in Coalside, and so, I have spent time and efforts getting more stood up to replace it."

Varric snorts. "Funding, campaigning, organizing, managing and coordinating," he says laconically. "But sure, not 'running' them I guess."

She snorts. "Not so much work as all that, but I suppose it's accurate."

Malcolm snorts a little as well. "Noticing she's a bit overly modest," he agrees. "Not sure where that came from. Certainly not me. And Leandra was more prone to bitch than to either praise or brush things off."

"I never got far in life by bragging," says Hawke with a shrug.

"Never get far in life if you're always putting yourself down either," Malcolm counters. "Sure, most hate a braggart, but many believe a man when they say they're no good. Say it often enough and one of those many might just be you."

"I do try to be better than I was," she says, simply. "But it's fact that I've screwed up time and time again."

"And as I keep telling you time and time again- everyone fucks up, even the gods, and your mistakes are far outweighed by your successes," Varric says with a huff.

"I hardly think the gods fuck up, but yes, point taken, I'm a hero and should act like it."

"Of course they do," Varric says with as scoff. "Gods aren't perfect, they're just... bigger people." Varric isn't an atheist, he's far too smart for that kind of stupid move, but he's not exactly the most reverent of believers. Not by a long shot.

"With divine knowledge and limitless power," she points out.

"Can't be limitless," Varric says smugly. "There's more than one of them. More than one being can't have limitless anything of the same thing because the very fact that anyone else has any of that thing means that no-one else can have all of that thing. And even if you consider 'limitless' power to just be power that can't be matched, that would also be a logical impossibility, as two things cannot be absolute, much less seventeen of them. Even if you just claim it's the two mains- Astea and Zanon- it breaks down."

"..." Malcolm stares blankly, then slowly drinks from his new tankard of ale.

"Gods work in mysterious ways." She shrugs.

"What." Varric gives her a disgusted look.

"No, seriously. How can a deity be both limitless and have areas of interest? It's one of the greater Mysteries of the temples, and I'm not an initiate. So I don't know. But it's true, either way." she takes a pull off her mug.

"Oooor... they're not limitless. I mean, if you have two possibilities and one requires you to assume you're just stupid and the other requires you to... not do that, then...." Varric gestures expansively.

"But the other requires me to assume the gods cannot do as they please, which is obviously nonsensical. I've seen divine intervention firsthand. I've met a god. I'm not going to assume there's anything they can't do just because I think I understand how it works better than their chosen." She shrugs, taking a drink.

"Oh, sure, I have no problem with the idea that the gods can do whatever the fuck they want that isn't going against another god. And maybe one of the Dukes of Hell or one of the Horsemen, an Old One... they might given a deity pause at least. So I suppose I can accept that the gods have... functionally limitless power in regards to a mortal perspective," he muses thoughtfully.

"See? You don't even need me." She chuckles. "Any other topic, Varric, but not gods. Not after the gem, not after Memento Mori. I'm done trying to understand. All I need to know is where they want me and when."

"... I feel like I need a pamphlet to follow along with your life," Malcolm says with a bit of bafflement. "How do you not have a flock of bards following you around, constantly asking you for fuel for their works?"

She shrugs. "Never got to know a bard, I guess."

Malcolm shakes his head in bemusement. After a moment, he gives her a slightly nervous look. "So... did you have any other, ah, questions or... anything?"

"You prefer ale or stout?" She asks, with a grin.

~*~

The next few days are much more relaxing. Marian avoids another flashback; she keeps talking about it with the druids, however, and trying to relax when she can. Finally, her rescheduled appointment with the Elders has her, Zevran, and Merrill heading back toward the tree once more.

It's Jaina that greets them outside the town- and evidently, it's _Bright_ Jaina if they're being formal, as she's actually a cleric, sworn to Raplin directly, not to nature as a concept. As they walk across the grounds, she gives them a little more information about what's to come.

"You're going to be meeting with Elder Maeve," she explains. "She's... well, she can be... distracting to people who aren't... how should I... Well, those who aren't prepubescent, undead or otherwise completely lacking a libedo." Well, that was... blunt?

Zevran blinks a few times. "So... in other words, I might have yet another relative here?" he says brightly.

"She's prettier," Jaina replies after rolling her eyes, voice perhaps just a trifle smug.

"Blasphemer!"

"Maeve is a plant-blood nymph, you're mortal, it's not a fair contest. She still wins mind you, but you were working at a great disadvantage." Jaina smiles faintly. "She's also something of a... well, she's trying her hand at musical pursuits," she says diplomatically. "We're trying to be supportive, but... well, just don't too blunt if she asks your opinion about her latest. She's also not really... well, please don't be offended if she's rather informal. Titles and the finer details of... civilized social forms don't interest her at all."

"Informal I can handle," chuckles Hawke. "Anything I should say or not say to avoid offending _her_?"

"Besides the obvious?" Nature spirit, birthed and devoted to Raplin, right. "Yes, she's missing two of the fingers on her left hand," Jaina says quietly as they near the oak. "She's not terribly self-conscious about it really, but... don't ask about it. It... wasn't an accident."

Hawke raises her eyebrows. "You realize that just makes me more curious? But, I won't pry."

Jaina offers a weak smile. "Sorry. It was from well before my time and she doesn't like to speak of it. Painful memories, from what I gather."

"I see," comes Hawke's reply, along with a solemn nod. "That's fair."

Merrill makes a sad noise. "Can't they be regrown? It's a hard spell but... surely..."

Jaina shakes her head. "I'm sure it could be done, though the wound is... well, it wasn't cleanly done, whatever did it, but she doesn't seem interested. I think she prefers the reminder."

"Poor dear," Hawke murmurs.

"She's happy mind you," Jaina rushes to assure Hawke. "Sometimes overly so," she adds, rolling her eyes. "She's certainly the least... somber of Raplin's Daughters."

"Because that's not familiar," Hawke jokes.

"Gorgeous, can't sing, refuses to shy away from past hardship, not good with formality and now a sense of humor, perhaps even irrelevance?" Zevran smirks. "Perhaps it is not _I_ that should suspect a familial connection. Tell me, does Maeve have a cold or winter theme?"

"Ah... no? She's more of a rock and earth sort... well, other than a general nature them, of course, but well, that's something of a given around here," Jaina replies, blinking a little.

Zevran looks disappointed at the missed chance, but perks back up when Merrill remarks, "so like a dwarf?"

Hawke rubs her face with one hand. "You two, I swear," she says, hiding her grin.

Jaina gives them all an amused head shake. "I'm sure you'll all be fine," she remarks, leading them into the massive root tunnel system. They walk for another minute or so, then arrive at a very solid looking door, with... some kind of mossy seal around the cracks?

"Sound dampening," the their merikos guide says with a sigh, then seems to brace herself. Knocking being pointless, she simply opens the door.

A blast of sound erupts outwards, one comprised of equal measures of enthusiastic drum noises and even more enthusiastic chanting. Maeve's voice is really rather nice, she just has either no ability or interest in staying on a single note for more than half a second at a time. She spends more time in the soprano and alto range, but she does drift into the lower ranges, her voice not seeming to have any trouble reaching 'male' ranges. Magic is cheating. The drumming is... basic. Just a one-two-three, one-two-three pattern done over and over again.

"She is... very passionate about... I can't tell what she's singing, but she's very passionate about it," Zevran remarks with a slight wince.

"Is that... sylvian and dwarven is an funny mix to sing in," Merrill says brightly, her head bobbing a little.

_Does she... **like** this?_ Jaina wonders, giving Merrill a funny look. She shakes it off a second later, pushing open the door so they can enter.

The room is fairly small, just about twenty feet across, and circular for the most part. The walls are also covered in moss, presumably to dampen sound as well. In the center of the room is a nine foot tall woman with dark green hair strewn with yellow and lavender flowers. Her skin is a lighter green mixed with an almost oak brown, and most of it is showing. Maeve doesn't wear clothing, per se, just her ankle length hair and a wide leather belt with dozen of pouches that comes close to serving as a function skirt. Her thighs are rather exposed on the sides, but her bits are covered at least. She's also, as advertized, drop dead beautiful, almost to the point of being painful to look at. Her eyes are closed, her expression fiercely intense, as she continues to play.

At her feet, heads covered with paws, are a pair of mabari sized wolves with green hued fur. As the door opens fully, one of them lifts their head to regard them but seems relaxed about it.

"She's... " Zevran and Merrill are treated to a rare sight, one they haven't beheld in a long while: Marian blushes, staring openly with a hungry look in her eyes. Not for long, of course, as both of her loves are nearly as entranced. Merrill's eyes are slightly glazed, almost but not quite as if she'd just finished a bout of lovemaking while Zevran is breathing a touch fast, an almost predatory look in his eyes.

Thankfully, Jaina is both more used to Maeve's looks and not overly interested in her- or the female form- in a sexual fashion. She gives them all a moment, then pointedly nudges Hawke in the side.

"Elder Maeve, your guests have arrived," she then says in a loud voice.

The plant-blooded nymph cuts off her playing, her eyes fluttering open. "What? Who's what now?"

Hawke takes a step forward before dropping to both knees with a thud. "My lady, I am honored beyond words."

Maeve blinks a few times, leaning forward to peer down at Hawke. "...about what?" she asks blankly, giving Jaina a 'what did I miss, help!' look.

The cleric is trying hard to keep her expression straight, not sure if she's embarrassed, amused or what. "This is Lady Hawke, her wife Merrill and their, ah, lover-"

"Jassinth? How long was in I here?" Maeve asks, eyes widening. "He's... aged well? And has good taste, I suppose, even if this one is a bit silly," she adds dubiously, eying Hawke.

Zevran opens his mouths, closes it.

Merrill edges closer, then kneels down next to Hawke. "She's super tall," the elf whispers. "And... oh my," she adds, realizing what this viewpoint affords them. "Ummm," she says, blushing and averting her gaze to the floor. Well, she tries to anyway.

"To be in the presence of such beauty is a gift I shall treasure always," manages Hawke, a bit slower on the uptake than usual. It's as if she's distracted or something...

"But why are you on the floor? I mean, if you were going to taste my flower, I'd think you'd need to get a bit closer," Maeve remarks, looking more puzzled than anything else.

Jaina lets out a faint gurgling noise. "No, Elder, they're here to-"

"I like this plan too," Zevran cuts in, sauntering over to stand a little behind and between his two loves. "We should... get to know each other before we talk business, no?"

"I like flowers," says Hawke, profoundly.

Maeve tilts her head back and lets out a deep, boisterous laugh even as Jaina just... nope, can't handle it. "I'll... leave you all to it," she says with a sigh as she steps back out of the room before anything else happens. _Why couldn't Minervia or Morrigan be available this week? ___

__Zevran runs his fingers through his ladies hair, then tugs slightly, just enough to barely hurt. He'd been a wee bit distracted himself, but he's run into beautiful fae before. None as... powerful or... damn look at her... move as she laughs. Wait, no, focusing._ _

__"What was I... Ah, yes. I am not Jaina's son, but possibly a relative of young Jassinth. I am Zevran the Astoundingly Fanciable, lately of Nyra."_ _

__Maeve gets a hold of herself after a moment. "You lot need me to throw on a dress or something?" She taps her belt-skirt. "I started carrying around a few after one of the townsfolk walked off a roof towards me. Like they never seen a mostly naked woman before or something. Well, technically, I started with the dresses after the second time- Dixin, the mayor or something told me that the idiot did it on purpose, 'cause I healed the first guy's legs up and carried him back to his house to rest." She snorts. "Told everyone we fucked, like I'd be interested in some idiot that breaks his legs 'cause he saw a pair of tits."_ _

___Some idiot._ That stings enough to jar the hero out of it, even if Zevran's hair pulling hadn't helped. She grins. "I am truly sorry, my lady, it's just... Your hips are the most marvelous thing I've seen in my life. I am Hero Marian zi'Hawke, of Nyra lately and Golden Shores prior."_ _

__Maeve shrugs a little, which is a marvelous thing as well. "Well, you did snap out of it pretty well... first full faerie you've ever met? A pretty one, I mean?" she asks with a wink, reaching down to pull both ladies upright. She's surprisingly strong. Sure, she's very tall, but aside from her hips and bust, she's fairly slender._ _

__Merrill allows herself to pulled up, but once there, she leans against Hawke. "'eads all wimmy," she slurs to her wife, voice barely audible._ _

__"Yes, quite. It's usually all dragons and demons, none of which can hold a candle to your loveliness," the magus responds._ _

__"That rather depends on the dragon," Maeve says with as smirk. "And if you're only counting the looking, the demon I suppose," she adds with a moue of distaste. "Still, I doubt it was just by hips and flowers that brought you here... and I think Jaina mentioned something at breakfast about..." she trails off, eyes squinting a bit. "Okay, she mentioned a _lot_ at breakfast... my siblings and I have been rather busy so there's something of a backlog of boring stuff..."_ _

__"Ah! Yes. We had come to beg a boon, though I am sorely tempted to beg a different one now," Hawke replies, wiggling her eyebrows._ _

__"Oh Hawke... eyebrow wiggling," Zevran says with a groan. "On such a lady of grace and-"_ _

__"Sure, you three seem nice and clearly Jaina approves of you," Maeve says with a shrug. Plus they all three ping as having good souls, Hawke is clearly a twice-lived hero and the elf is... "Is she okay?" For poor Merrill's eyes are rolling back in her head as she leans with almost all her weight on Hawke._ _

__"Merrill!?" Now Hawke tears her gaze away from the fae, turning to scoop her into her arms, cradling her bridal-style. "What's wrong with my wife? Zevran, get-- a healer," she concludes lamely, her eyes wide and frightened._ _

__"I don't know, what's why- has she done this sort of thing before?" Maeve asks briskly, stepping closer. "I'm a healer, by the way. May I cast on her?"_ _

__"Yes, of course. She's our usual healer, a shaman," she says, rapidly. "Is there any chance being near the tree could have hurt her?"_ _

__"A shaman? Is she very new to it?" Maeve asks quickly, muttering under in breath in familiar sylvan._ _

__"No, she's been a shaman for decades, since she was a child," Zevran answers._ _

__Maeve frowns then. "This looks like she's been overwhelmed but a shaman of any significant experience would be... dazed for a short time yes, but-" She cuts off at Hawke's reply._ _

__"Merrill's... special. A natural, she was assaulted when young and untrained, she has a... a fault-line."_ _

__"A faultline.... well why not?" Her features, her form- none of it changes. But she does turn just a little less... vivid in some indefinable way._ _

__Within seconds, Merrill blinks rapidly, then hiccups. "I feel... like... like a wooshing wonder," she breathes out softly._ _

__"Beloved," Hawke sighs in relief, pressing a kiss to Merrill's temple. "Are you alright now?"_ _

__"Feel a little like I snuck some of Papa's glass," she replies with a giggle. "And all... lazy, like we just finished having sex. And tired, a little. 'is nice though."_ _

__"I'm so sorry, my love. I should have been paying more attention to you." She sounds honestly pained._ _

__"You were being influenced by my presence as well," Maeve says, sounding rather guilty herself. "I- normally, that's... restrained enough to not be a problem, at least for the people that live and visit the Oak often, I didn't even think that it might be too much."_ _

__"It's okay, my love," Merrill says lazily, nuzzling at Hawke's neck. "It didn't hurt, I just felt... floaty and nice."_ _

__"Oh," she says, to Maeve, looking up again. She studies the fae with a critical eye and then... blushes. "You're very pretty," she admits, looking back down at Merrill._ _

__"Well... yes," Maeve says with a slight blush. "I _am_ a nymph. A special type, yes, but still. Being attractive is... kind of our thing and all. And my being a Daughter makes that even more potent."_ _

___Is that why my dragon refuses to stand down, even while panicking about Merrill?_ Zevran shakes his head a little. "Attractive is a bit mild," he comments._ _

__"Ah, good," quips the hero. "I was worried I was going through puberty again."_ _

__"Well, causing things to bloom is another of my talents," Maeve says with a grin. "You feeling better, hun?" she asks Merrill, getting a vaguely affirmative noise as the elf begins to suck on Hawke's neck._ _

__"Should we come back another day?" Hawke asks her wife, quietly._ _

__"Nuuuu," Merrill says stubbornly, continuing to work on Hawke's neck. She's vaguely determined to finally make a smiley face hickey pattern. _Always gets distracted before I can finish. Can't imagine why? Mmmh, feels so nice pressed up against Hawke. Always there for me... love her so much. Want this, want her, want now. Maeve is pretty too and her song, even muted like right now... it's so lovely. Like starlight on your skin, the scent of blossoms in the air and rainbows and sunsets forever._ "M'fine, just... kitteny."_ _

__"She doesn't appear harmed, soul, mind or body," Maeve says gently, lowering her hands. "A bit tired, but only physically as far as I can tell. From what I understand, this sort of... overexposure, at low to modest levels, is like having very intense waking dreams while also feeling like you've been soaking in hot water. I doubt she'll be very, ah, active, for a while, but she's not... damaged or mentally impaired. Well, beyond what feeling a touch sleepy does anyway."_ _

__Marian nods. "We came to ask a boon..." she begins, unsure how to go about it._ _

__"And got distracted by booty?" Maeve teases, twisting a little to pop her hip and show off the curve of her rear._ _

__Marian lets out a small groan, though that might be the result of Merrill finding a tender spot. "Quite."_ _

__Maeve licks her lips slightly, studying them intently. "Well... maybe it might be interesting to hold your petition while you're... distracted."_ _

__"And might I be right in that we are the distraction?" Zevran says with a soft laugh, coming up behind Hawke, pressing his body against her back and resting his hands on her hips._ _

__"If that is what my lady wishes," says Hawke with a coy smile. "Far be it from me to disappoint."_ _

__Maeve laughs softly, then slips her belt off to toss on the side of the room. She pauses, then heads for the door. "Hey you two, go for a walk," she says loudly, the two wolves surging to their feet so they can get out of the way. "So... tell me a bit about yourself," she continues. "Something boring, something interesting and something... embarrassing in a silly way."_ _

__"I'm a half-elf, I lost my virginity to a man and a woman at the same time, and I sometimes get the hiccups during sex."_ _

__"She's also going to make great use of the room's soundproofing," Zevran remarks, hands beginning to explore._ _

__"And you, oh fabulous one?"_ _

__Zevran blinks, not having realized he was part of the game. "Ah, well, let's see... I... favor gnome wines over elven, I'm the one that took both their virginities and... I lost my own virginity in a barn only to discover I'd been fucking atop a cowpie. Totally worth it but it did kill the afterglow a touch."_ _

__Merrill giggles, then chimes in between kisses against Hawke's throat and chin. "I have a chuspiki familiar named Bob, I love Zevran and Hawke and sometimes I forget to get dressed in the morning. And more often forget to wear smallclothes. Like today actually," she adds, wiggling a little in Hawke's arms._ _

__"I'm not sure you -- ah! -- got the order correct there, love," teases Hawke. "Surely your familiar is the more interesting part?" Merrill considers it a moment, then solemnly shakes her head before stretching upwards to kiss behind Hawke's ear. Zevran, watching all this carefully, shifts one arm upwards to help support Merrill's body so Hawke doesn't drop her wife._ _

__"Given what I've seen so far, loving the two of you must be a very interesting life indeed so... I think she might be right," Maeve replies. "What would you say _is_ the most interesting thing you've done together? Out of the bedroom, I should say."_ _

__"Killed a dragon?" offers Hawke. "We did that a few times." It's getting harder for her to focus, but she makes a valiant effort._ _

__"That's... impressive, for killing, but I was hoping for something _interesting_ ," Maeve replies, her hands beginning to wander across her own body as she watches._ _

__"Interesting... Most of the interesting parts of my life are bedroom parts," the twice-lived hero sighs. _Though admittedly, my brain might be biased right now._ "One time I conned a handful of folks into buying fairy sheep off me?"_ _

__That gets a laugh from Maeve. "Did you now? And what _is_ a fairy sheep?" the gorgeous fae lady asks, eyes darting down to where Merrill's hand is massing Hawke through her shirt._ _

__Marian swallows a groan. "Just a lamb, almost grown, with Catfolk fur dye and scraps of silk for wings. They look a bit funny at that age, so it was an easy sell they were full grown familiars instead of lambs. Sold a half dozen, made almost a gold apiece net rev-- revenue." _Gods, Merrill, not there, I will be undone!_ Merrill lets out a squeak as Hawke almost loses her grip, but she doesn't cease her assault in the slightest. Zevran has gotten a touch distracted himself thanks to Hawke's hips moving back against him._ _

__Maeve steps forward, moving to take Merrill. "Why don't we all lay down?" she asks, a touch huskily. The floor is wood, but it's carpeted with that same moss as the walls so it's should be fairly soft, right?_ _

__"God's yes," Marian breathes. "Maybe less pants."_ _

__Merrill growls softly as being pulled away, but the 'less pants' gets her full support. Zevran steps back to disrobe rapidly as well. "That sounds very marvelous right now, yes." His pants might designed to be snug and yet allow for expansion in a certain spot but tight leather is still tight leather._ _

__The nymph laughs softly as she sinks to the ground, Merrill in her lap. Against the nine-foot fae, Merrill looks positively waifish and almost delicate. Marian strips to her smallclothes, then peels out of her girdle, revealing -- if one looks closely -- a faint line on her stomach, along the lower right side, almost to the naval. It's faint, but not so faint as the dimpled scar in her left palm. She reaches back to untie her warrior's breastband, revealing both her small, pert breasts, and the tangled knot of scar tissue that sits neatly between them. It looks old, but vivid; there's no missing it. Thus defrocked, she sinks to the ground to kiss Merrill fiercely._ _

__Maeve allows that for a moment, then tugs Merrill back. She'd taken the opportunity while Hawke was busy to slip the elf's dress off to reveal that Merrill had, in fact, forgone smallclothes this morning. Running a hand down Merrill's front, she gives Hawke a stern look. 'No questions for me? I'm a little hurt in how... disinterested you are," she says, adding a playful pout at the end._ _

__"Unfortunately, my wife comes first," she admits, pulling back to smile at Maeve._ _

__"Oh I think not," Maeve purrs softly, still exploring Merrill's abdomen with soft, deft strokes. "I'm afraid that I'll be deciding who... goes first. Host privilege you see." Merrill lets out a soft moan and shivers._ _

__Zeven, about to embrace Hawke from behind, pauses and clears his throat. "On that note... a word to, ah, keep in mind? We use Sunstone," he says softly, getting a quick nod from Maeve. Hawke flinches, her desire dampening a little as she recalls the incident the other day. Having to warn people of her safeword ahead of time feels like preparing for disaster -- unfortunately necessary, but a bit of a damper on the fun. _If only I'd been smarter...__ _

__"Far be it from me to abuse your hospitality, oh sweet lady," she recovers, planting the smile back on her face._ _

__"Well, perhaps you can confirm that yourself... in an hour or two, if you behave, oh honored guest," Maeve says, trying to pull Hawke back in. "But first we should get to know each other more." She glances down at the slowly squirming Merrill and adds, "this one here seems a bit distracted so I think it's on you two for now."_ _

__"Of course. What interesting things do you enjoy?" She asks, settling back against Zevran's bare chest, enjoying the feel of his skin on hers._ _

__"Hmmm. Well, you've see my latest hobby," the nymph says with a rueful grin. "Or heard it anyway. I've some skill with a brush and more with a woodworker chisel but music is proving... elusive. Or if you mean things as opposed to hobbies, then... I enjoy soft... smooth... leather. And the feel of ice pressed against my skin. Cold. Biting. Slick with melt." She pauses then, giving Zevran a sharp look as his hand start to drift to close to a sensitive spot on Hawke._ _

__"I--Ice?" Hawke moans. "That just so h-h-appens... Ice I can do," she breathes, deciding on the simpler sentence after all._ _

__Maeve raises an eyebrow. "Can you now? Any good with making... shapes?" she asks, licking her lips. Zevran hisses slightly, breath hitching, at the thought, hand tightening on Hawke's calf for a moment. From the way he bucks forward a little, it's the good kind of 'suddenly tense' though._ _

__"I have never tried," Marian demurs, looking up at Zevran. "I should test the effect before I risk it on my lady host."_ _

__"Tell you what... if you make the ice, I can shape it," Maeve says smoothly. "Even if it's not perfect, a bit of rough is just spice to me." Merrill worms around a little, trying to reach something other than Maeve's arms, but the much larger and stronger woman keeps her in place. She doesn't look distressed mind you. Or well, not the bad kind of distressed._ _

__"You should see me angry. My whole body goes cold." She smiles, holding out a hand and conjuring a snowball into it._ _

__"Just... anger? Will or... other emotions do?" Maeve asks with interest, capturing both of Merrill's hands in one of her own and pulling them above her head. Merrill lets out a soft whimper, back arching as the other hand finds something to tweak. "I enjoy a bit of rough, but I was never into angry sex."_ _

__"Not usually, ah, sex emotions. Fear."_ _

__"While the Big Bad Faerie, come to make you Pay Your Debts _Personally_ can be fun, that's not a first time game," Maeve says with faint regret. She lifts Merrill up a little by the arms, slipping her other arm under her knee and lifting as well, which puts the elf rather on display to her two loves. Merrill doesn't make any kind of protest during this, just pants heavily. "She's rather... submissive, isn't she?" Maeve asks, clearly pleased- and aroused- by this._ _

__"No, she's usually-- ah, right, in that sense, yes."_ _

__Maeve chuckles softly, a deep and throaty sound. "And you? Both of you, do you like to submit and-" she pauses then, eyes flicking sharply behind her. After a short but noticeable pause, she continues, "or you prefer other games?"_ _

__"I... often enjoy a bit of laughter and teasing, of both kinds," Zevran says lightly. "I also like to put on a show, which pairs nicely with our Merrill's delight in watching."_ _

__"I don't submit," Hawke says, her tone a touch dark._ _

__Maeve nods slowly. "Not even in play?" she asks gently, tone very nonjudgmental._ _

__"No, not anymore." She gasps a bit as Zevran's wonderful hands distract her for the moment from her thoughts._ _

__"That's a shame... it can be very freeing to relinquish control to someone you trust," Maeve explains, before muttering something softly. She lowers the hand she'd been holding Merrill's wrists with to reveal they've been bound with thin tendrils. Hand now free, she leans back so she can stroke the undersides of the elf's thighs, careful to avoid touching what Merrill wants touched most right now. "So what kinds of games do you like to play?"_ _

__Zevran considers trying to mimic what the nymph is doing but is wise enough to admit he doesn't have nearly enough upper body strength for it. Instead, he starts to nibble on her ear gently, murmuring soft benedictions in the whispery, breathing auran tongue._ _

__"Mmm," she moans, trying to turn it into a thinking noise -- and failing. "We p-play, ah, all sorts of things. Ciren Says. Oh, and my wi-fe makes costumes."_ _

__"And how about things out of the bedroom? What do you do for fun with clothes on?" Maeve asks idly. "Aside from being a hero, what do you spend your time on?"_ _

__"G-Guiding light," she gasps out, trying to put her thoughts in order. "Lots of work. Ah. I have a d-dog, and I enjoy plays. And good liquor."_ _

__"Her papa is a dwarf," Zevran remarks. "Thankfully, his influence is mostly in liquor, stubbornness and cursing. I shudder to think of our lovely hawk here with plentiful body hair."_ _

__"I don't know, it might be nice. Never had much."_ _

__"Have you ever considered," Maeve pauses a moment to focus on the increasingly desperate Merrill, then resumes. "Playing with polymorph magic? Spells to tweak one's race for a short time are not overly complex."_ _

__"I am... Not good at them but--" she swallows. "Willing. Quite willing. I am always up for new experiences. We came t-to ask for s-s-sap, so I could hear what my w-ife hears."_ _

__"Sap? Oh- right, shaman," Maeve says, glancing down at the squirmy mess in her lap. "Somehow I doubt she's ever had an experience quite like this one with a spirit," she adds smugly. Merrill softly keens a plea, clearly wanting the nymph to actually _touch_ her _please_._ _

__"My Merrill is a wonder," protests Hawke, stubbornly loyal. "I wouldn't put it past her."_ _

__"Is she? Is that why you want to try the sap? To have that wonder for yourself?" Maeve asks coyly, shifting Merrill over to rest somewhat on her right leg. She stretches her other leg out to the side, smirks at Hawke, then crooks a finger._ _

__Hawke stumbles onto her hands and knees almost as soon as Maeve is done beckoning, crawling toward her in a more measured pace once she's gotten hold of herself again. She lets out a small groan. "No. Merrill isn't a wonder because of her spirits. She's a treasure, and she has spirits. I just want... I want to understand my flower better."_ _

__"Your-" Maeve takes a second to clue in. "Flower is she?" She studies her elf for a moment, then nods slowly. "Beautiful, delicate and brings joy? And yet surprising useful and perhaps even dangerous if need be." As she speaks, she wraps an arm around Hawke, hand rest on her hip. And, given her size, half of her rear as well, which provides a nice supportive seat. Voice lower she adds, "you may touch me wherever you wish, but not yourself or Merrill." A pause as she makes eye contact, silently asking if that's okay._ _

__Zevran pouts, feigning offense at being abandoned. _Then again..._ he glances at the figure displayed before them, _I can hardly blame her. Damn. That is one fine wo- oh hi!_ Maeve had giving him a look, then a pointed glance between her feet. Hawke is clambering up on Maeve's free leg, mimicking Merrill's position but facing the other way, so that leaves an opening directly in the middle. "Don't mind if I do," the merikos drow murmurs._ _

__Hawke, on the other hand, has different concerns. _Not myself or Merrill? So she intends to tease us both?_ Surprisingly, the idea doesn't sound that unpleasant. She flashes a smile before she reaches up to stroke the woman's stomach, letting out a small sigh of contentment at being able to touch, being able to be part of this, being here in this space._ _

__"Hmmm. You have nice hands," Maeve comments. "Strong, clever... and just the right amount of," her breath hitches just slightly as Zevran's mouths gets to work on the back of her leg, "roughness on your fingers. What, ah, what do you do for those?"_ _

__"I've tried creams and lotions," she says, swallowing as her hand trails lower. "Mostly I steal Aveline's hand soap." _She's not vain, but she likes the smell of it, and it does wonders for my skin._ "Ah, don't tell her I do that," she adds, with a hint of a blush._ _

__"And how do you _get_ the roughness?" Maeve asks, buying time to gather her thoughts. She's not expected Zevran to be so good with just her legs to work with, nor for Hawke's hands to hit so many of her switches. And that's not counting how... simply delightful their sub is._ _

__"I work a shaft," she says with a wicked grin, trailing a finger across a _particularly_ sensitive spot. _That_ gets a pleased hiss. It also gets Hawke hauled upwards a bit and pulled into a very passionate kiss. The hand cupping her bottom slowly kneads the taut muscle as it holds her in place._ _

___She did not forbid **me** from touching but... I suspect that is simply oversight, and it would be a shame to ruin the game,_ Zevran muses, instead decided to test out how Maeve reacts to some semi-hard biting. Amusingly, the best feedback he gets is from Merrill, as the hand stroking the bottom and back of her thighs slips and finally brushes the very edges of her flower. Not enough to bring the poor elf to peak, but enough to wrench out an aching sob. This finally gets Hawke's attention, the hero pulling back to check if Merrill is alright._ _

__The follow-up noises- a series of plaintive mews- is rather reassuring. Maeve, her face right next to Hawke's, obviously notices her distraction and follows her gaze. "Is she alright? Is she normally this... nonverbal?" the nymph breathes in her ear, not wanting to break character any more than she has to._ _

__"Sometimes. When she's close. Merrill?" Hawke reaches a hand back toward Merrill. "My love? Reassure me?"_ _

__Merrill rolls her head to the side and offers a dazed smile and a soft moan. "Alright little one," Maeve murmurs. "You've been very good." With that, she slips her hand up and presses inwards lightly. Merrill tenses and then shatters, mouth moving silently as she goes boneless. "Sweet Father, she's nearly perfect," Maeve says huskily, eyes hungry and blazing._ _

___Mine,_ thinks Hawke hungrily, watching her beloved writhe. "Yes, she is," she groans, feeling aflame herself with longing._ _

__"Oh no," Maeve says firmly, lowering Hawke back to her thigh so she can use her hand to, gently, press Hawke's head to her chest. " _You_ haven't earned it yet," she croons._ _

__From below, Zevran asks jauntily, "and how about yourself, Lady Maeve? It's clear what one of your games are, but do you have any others?" Granted a reprieve from talking, Hawke puts her mouth to good use on the giant chest before her._ _

__"Well... I enjoy a nice tie-up," Maeve says slowly, running her fingers through Marian's hair. "And aquatic sex- I don't need to breath," she adds. "But denial games, being dominant and being climbed on are my big three. Any of that catch your fancy?" Merrill has settled, simply melted against Maeve's side as she recovers. The nymph is slowing rubbing her back, trying to help her center herself but otherwise not focusing on her._ _

__"This is nice," says Marian, pausing in her work briefly._ _

__"Why thank you, Lady Hawke, I'm rather fond my breasts as we-" Maeve cuts off with a gasp. Zevran's mouth has reached the juncture of her legs and... "Oh my.. He..." She takes a breath. "I didn't notice the tongue stud. That's- very nice." Her eyelids slower a bit and she says in a husky tone. "Go ahead and... be enthusiastic. I like it rough- use teeth."_ _

__Marian freezes in place for a moment, before pulling back. "No, thanks," she says, her tone odd. She tries to play it off: "I would hate to marr such perfection."_ _

__Maeve's face shifts to a stern look for a moment, then startled. She blinks, finally glancing at Hawke. "I... heal rapidly, dagger wounds gone in seconds, but I suppose I can't fault you for not wanting that on your conscious," she says slowly. A jolts runs through her then and her eyes flutter. "Don't- don't, ah, just go as rough as you like then," she manages._ _

__"As my lady commands," she says with a cheeky grin. When she gets back about it, she employs some cold, directed with her hands; she can't quite make shapes, but she can employ a blast of chill with one hand while kneading with the other. She also seems to have no trouble digging her nails in; when this doesn't cause the pain she craves, Marian sends some power into her fingernails to help._ _

__"Merciful Father," Maeve grits out, back arching sharply. She fumbles a moment to catch Merrill, sliding the still boneless elf off to rest against her side. Hand now free, she grips Zevran's head to... encourage him more. "Fuck- so- almost-" She growls, yanking Hawke up to kiss now that the merikos elf is using her hands more than her mouth on her chest. Whether it was planned or just an result of being jostled, Hawke's magically reinforced nail cuts right across a stiff peak. Maeve tenses and lets out a long, pleased moan into Hawke's mouth. Beneath them, Zevran makes some muffled noises. Marian pushes her tongue into the fae's mouth insistently, almost possessively, grinding her hips against the massive leg beneath her._ _

__The nymph takes a surprisingly- and enviously- long time to finish but Maeve finally pulls away from their kiss. And clamps down on Hawke's hips, preventing her from moving. "Ah-ah-ah, I haven't said you can go yet," she says firmly. "I want to taste you when you finally release," she whispers, licking and sucking on Hawke's ear, careful to avoid using her teeth._ _

__She lets out a sound something between a moan and a whimper. "As... As my l-lady commands," she groans._ _

__Zevran gratefully leans back, finally freed, to take in a few gasps of air. _That was... very nice, but still, air is a wondrous thing, thank you. Interesting taste... leafy greens and not quite honey. Wonder if that's what flower nectar tastes like?__ _

__"Mmmmh," Maeve says, enjoying the noise immensely. "Tell me, my sweet little Hawke, do you mind being upside down?" she whispers, the hands on her hips squeezing slightly._ _

___Upside down? Oh! So she can--_ "By all means," she says with a grin._ _

__With hardly any visible effort, Maeve takes Hawke by the waist and swings her up and over so the smaller woman's knees are either side of Maeve's head while her own is about even with Maeve's smooth stomach. Uh, no belly button. Makes sense really, given that she likely wasn't actually born in the- oh wow Maeve has a very long and nicely textured tongue._ _

__From her new position, Hawke can also see that Maeve has hauled Zevran up to press against her free side and is currently exploring the male's body. Also, the lower half of Zevran's face is stained green and powdered with some kind of yellow speckles. She can't help it -- she giggles at the sight of her lover covered in pollen. Then she gasps as that tongue -- _that tongue!__ _

__Maeve leans forward a little so Marian's head dips low enough to see how Zevran got that way. Pulling away a moment, Maeve orders firmly, "If you pop before I do again, then that's the last one you'll get before we wrap up for the afternoon. I suggest you get to work, little snowgirl." Well, that sounds like a challenge, now doesn't it?_ _

__Marian gets to work._ _

__\---_ _

__Some time later, when she finally yields, Marian collapses against her wife, heedless of the coating of yellow pollen mingled in her dark hair. Zevran is laying atop Maeve, his whole body fitting on the fae. Merrill is passed out, curled up under Maeve's left arm, one hand tightly clasping Zevran's. Hawke is pressed between the elf and Maeve, her head resting on Zevran's thigh. All three of them have a fair bit of pollen stuck to their bodies in some rather interesting patterns. Strangely, Maeve looks fresh and clean, with no sign of any kind to indicate what she's been up to. Nymph magic perhaps?_ _

__"So what did you think?" Maeve murmurs softly, not wanting to wake Merrill. "Did I get too pushy or did that, ah, work for you?"_ _

__"That worked," she sighs, happily. "Sorry about the awkward bit. I have a no biting rule."_ _

__"No kink is everyone's kink and every kink is someone's kink," Zevran says tiredly, voice muffled from between Maeve's breasts. "I think I rather see why kender and gnomes like this position. This is very comfortable."_ _

__Maeve chuckles softly, stroking the merikos drow's long hair where it drapes over his back. "On my end as well. As I said, I very much enjoy the feeling of having people on top of me, torso or limb."_ _

__"Maybe I should try that sometime. There's biggening magic out there, right?" She's too tired to bother with proper conjugation in this case._ _

__"I can highly recommend it," Maeve says, then laughs softly. "You could even say I'm a hugely in support of the idea."_ _

__"That was terrible and you should feel small inside for saying that,"Zevran groans._ _

__Maeve giggles softly, giving Zevran a soft slap on the bum. "Speaking of magic... you had something you wanted to ask? Officially, I mean, instead of moaned?"_ _

__"Ah yes," she groans, from under her arm, which she flung over her face to hide in shame from the puns. "Could I ask the boon of some magic sap?"_ _

__"By our talk and, ah, actions, I have found you a good and worthy soul," Maeve intones. "Both of you, actually, if you're interested Zevran." A beat. "That goes for the magic ritual sap and my own _sap_ , if you're up for more later."_ _

__"Mayhap tomorrow, unless you have a better spell for chafing and depletion than has already been used today," Zevran groans softly._ _

__"Oh good," says Hawke, relieved. "I doubt I could go another round either."_ _

__"I think your wife is close to being a in coma," Maeve notes with amusement. "Poor girl is completely fuckered out."_ _

__"She does that. Sleeps deep, too."_ _

__Maeve smiles faintly. "On that topic... if you want, there's a bath and a bed I can offer. And I can send word back to town if you think the rest of your party will worry," Maeve offers._ _

__"That seems reasonable," she agrees._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently forgot to post chapter 14 when it was done, so two at once for you! This is probably the third smuttiest part of the tale, by the way, but it was the part where Kaelas and I started to dabble in how to write erotica together instead of fading out.


	16. "I was hoping to have a taste of your sap as well"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finally gets a chance to play shaman by tasting Raplin's Sap.

The next day, Marian rises early, girding herself for try number three to get some of this damn sap. _At least I've been promised success this time._

They're greeted by a furiously blushing Jassinth who looks _exceedingly_ happy to see the four of them. He blinks a moment. The merikos drow glances at the rather pretty redhead walking up arm in arm with Hawke. _Seriously, what kind of hells has she been through that the gods feel the need to rebalance her life with such riches? Or maybe it's her perfume?_

Aveline had been given this a great deal of thought. _I want to understand Merrill. The elf is far too much a part of Hawke's life, and thus my life, for me to not make the effort to know her. Not just as a friend, or even a close friend, but as family. As a... metamour. That's the word Bright Seli used. Because of course Cirenites would have a word for 'romantic partner of my romantic partner but not my romantic partner.' This is... a bit outside my comfort zone, but after almost two days of internal debate- and then an hour or so of external debate- I'm sure I want to do this. Almost entirely sure. Mostly._

Merrill and Zevran are walking arm in arm as well, giving the other two ladies a touch of space. Zevran can't even try and deny he's a bit excited about this. It's not like he's hidden that he finds Aveline very attractive. Merrill is mostly just thrilled that her family- three of them!- are all going to share what is the most consistent part of her life. The biggest and more significant part of her life, before Hawke. She does really like Aveline and isn't disinterested in having sex with Aveline but she'd have been perfectly happy being with just Zevran and Hawke for the rest of her life.

Of course, neither are expecting to actually have sex with Aveline, even if she'll be taking the sap as well if she's allowed. Aveline had expressed that she's aware that touching will happen, possibly a fair bit and possibly rather intimate, but she's asked that they make an effort to not.. get carried away. To her half surprise, Zevran had instantly and solemnly promised his obedience in this, follow quickly by Merrill. It shouldn't be a problem really. This isn't some kind of lust spell or the like, it should simply enflame their passions. They'll still be able to control themselves perfectly fine.

Jassinth escorts them inside, where they quickly realize why he'd been blushing so badly. Maeve is standing in the hallway with Granny Peli casually standing on her shoulder. The pair are exchanging some really dirty jokes and flirtations, both clearly have a great time. Huh. They rather remind Hawke of Isabela and Zevran when they get especially flirty and teasing. Seeing the group approach, they break off.

"Hawke, welcome back! New friend?" Maeve calls out to them with a grin.

"Longtime lover," she corrects. "This is Aveline, my Champion." A rueful grin -- even if she knows what it means, it's a little weird for a hero to have her own champion. "This is Maeve, Jassinth, and Granny Peli," she adds, to Aveline.

Aveline steps up, hand out to shake. "Bright's Aveline," she says, firm tone. "I was hoping to have a taste of your sap as wel-" She pauses at Pelli's snicker but pushes on. "I'm sorry this is a bit last minute, I just... it took a bit of time convincing myself to try this."

Maeve studies Aveline for a moment as they shake hands, then finally smiles. "Well, if Hawke's reference isn't enough, I should hope I can trust Vangal's," she finally decides, then pauses. "The... after effects won't be an issue?" she asks carefully.

Aveline flushes a touch. "I... well, my... interest in that sort of thing isn't high normally, so I'm hoping the sap will just leave me at... say Hawke's normal. So I was figuring I could just... interact with Hawke once or twice, then meditate afterwards," she explains, gaze averted.

Zevran makes a pout, but doesn't comment. Merrill is simply beaming broadly- no detail of any kind could make her less than ecstatic that so many of her family are going to share this part of her life.

Hawke nods, reaching for Aveline's hand. "Whatever happens, I'll be here for you."

Aveline musters a smile. _Oh Vangal, I hope this is the right choice. I want to make this work, I need this to work, this will work, but... I don't know if this is the right step towards that. I think it is. I think that... I need to understand Merrill better. I need to share this part of their life. And maybe I need to... not... I don't want to... live the lifestyle Hawke does. Or even that Merrill does. But maybe... just a little less... restricted wouldn't be so bad? It's probably not healthy that some days I try to pretend that Hawke doesn't do what she does. Who she does rather._

"Yes, well... that isn't something I've ever..." She falters at the lie. "That isn't something I doubt anymore. For anything."

A short time later, the four Clan members are alone with Maeve in a small... is it a cave when it's made out of wood and set into a tree instead of stone? Regardless, that's where they are for this. In the center of the room is a small pedestal with a stone bowl on it. It's simple, almost crude looking, but the substance inside is clearly special- a gently glowing pool of molten-looking amber honey. There's no light sources visible but the room is nevertheless illuminated, albeit dimly. The floor is also smooth wood, not carved but instead covered with pale tan bark that is curiously easy to walk on.

Someone has obviously prepared the room for the event in question, given the mound of blankets and pillows along the side of the room. There's also a series of covered trays, presumably food for when they reach the third stage of the sap's influence. Maeve then goes over the process, making sure they all understand what's to occur. The sap, taken directly from the Oak's heart and treated properly, will given them a deep and primal connection to nature for a short time, perhaps an hour and a fifth again. In this case, it will allow them to not just sense, but also hear, see and even talk to natural spirits. Not as clearly as most shamans, no, but well enough to get a taste of it.

Afterwards, their biological urges will spike upwards sharply. Sex, yes, but also survival instincts, other hungers, and even just simple need for affection and tribalism. It's not like being drunk- one's ability to reason, their coordination and recollection, aren't impaired. Indulging in one's drives is certainly easier- Maeve says that personally, she thinks it's highly enjoyable- but she has known more than a handful of people that've taken the sap that simply meditated, prayed, sleep or exercise through it instead.

Merrill, who isn't taking the sap herself for obvious reasons, is flitting around the room eagerly. She'd made a point of bonding with Nyrite this morning, a rather impressive feat she doesn't realize is of any note. It's only possible due to her familiarity with the spirit in question combined with her deep and profound connection to spirits in general, otherwise the distance and dichotomy of the environments would have made it impossible for her to renew a connection. Maintain, sure, that's fairly simple. But reaching out and renewing is very different.

Zevran is mostly here on curiosity. He's a man who seeks new experiences. Mostly sexual, admittedly, but that's mostly just because it's something he's really very good at. Also because sex is wonderful. But it's not often he gets the chance to see a side of the world so new and normally restricted so he's well pleased to be part of this. Also, he's certainly not opposed to having another foursome with Maeve, especially with a twist like the sap in play. The last minute addition of Aveline to the mix is just a bonus, even if he only gets to watch her be with Hawke. He'd never actually push for it- and in fact has promised himself to turn Aveline down if she gives an invitation today- but he is rather interested in the paladin. Of course, if today opens her mind to a... little something fun in the future, well, that's entirely different.

Aveline is nervous. Twitchy and tense. She wants to make this bonding moment work, but she just... gods above, the idea of even just being naked in front of Merrill is enough to make her mouth dry out. Zevran? Or this gorgeous giant of a woman? Can she really do this? What if she can't stop herself from... and if she can't, what does that mean? About her? About her relationship with Hawke?

Despite her casual air, of course Marian is nervous. They keep telling her she won't lose control of herself, that it won't be like a heat. But... isn't heat just like this sort of thing? Just this sort of basic natural instinct welling up? _Vangal, I know it's a lot to ask after what you've already done for me, but please. Don't let me hurt anyone. Astea, if you can spare a boon, let this be pure and joyful._ She keeps her prayers silent, staying near Aveline to help soothe her. Her Clan is what's important now.

Hawke can feel... warmth. Not like a hug or even sunlight, but instead... it almost feels like heat radiating from a wood fire. Flickering, wavering but comforting and powerful. It's just for an instant, and it comes with the scent of fresh leaves and soft loam. That couldn't have been Vangal- or Astea, despite being the goddess of Light... Raplin?

Maeve slowly walks over to Hawke, a palmful of sweetly smelling sap held out to the merikos elf. "Do you still wish to partake of Raplin's bounty? Do you accept the cost it bears?"

Next to her, Aveline seems faintly pale and her breathing is a bit unsteady.

Hawke cups her hands, giving a solemn nod. "I do. I am informed, and I consent."

Instead of pouring some into Hawke's hands, Maeve dips her finger into the sap and holds it up to Hawke's face. "More than this would probably knock you out," she murmurs. "Try not to get it on your lips, it numbs for a bit but only on the outside. Magic. "

The sap is... not bad. It's thick and... heavy. The flavor is hard to describe. It's almost like... it tastes like damp wood smells, but it's sweet as well. And so very thick that it's almost a flavor. Feels like its coating her throat, her stomach, then spreading out to every bit of her.

Hawke done, Maeve turns to offer her freshly coated finger to Aveline. "Do you still wish to partake of Raplin's bounty? Do you accept the cost it bears?"

Who stares at it, wide eyed. "I... Y- I'm- I don't know," she finally says, squeezing her eyes closed as she trembles. "I want- but I don't know if-"

_This is... strange. And yet... also lovely._ "It's always okay to say no," Hawke murmurs, reaching for Aveline's hand.

"I know. I know," Aveline growls. "But this is... this is a once in a life-time thing. I'll never get another chance to maybe understand Merrill like this and I just-"

Eyes gentle and soft, Merrill walks over and gently reaches over to lay a hand atop Aveline and Hawke's joined hands. "Thank you. For wanting to know me. But please don't hurt yourself, not for me or... us."

"It's okay to say yes, too," Hawke says, with a soft smile. "Are you simply afraid? Or do you not want to do it? Fear is worth pushing through, but aversion not so much."

Aveline's back stiffens and she snaps out, "I'm not af-" before she swallows the rest of it. She takes a deep breath. Then another. "That's... something of an insult to a paladin," she finally says. "Be the same as... asking you if you knew what Magic Missile was but... more. It'd be like asking a wizard if they can read." Normally Aveline is a bit more controlled... the accusations at work must be preying on her more than she's been trying to let on these last few weeks. She takes another deep breath. "...especially if it might be a true question," she mutters as Maeve kindly moves over to offer the sap to Zevran as they work this out.

Hawke winces. "I'm sorry, I'm just... that's just how I try to work through things."

"No, no, it's fine. How would you know? It's not like there are a great many paladins around Nyra and... I'm stalling," Aveline says with a wince. "...I just... I'm not sure if I'm ready to..." She licks her lips nervously, then visibly squares her shoulders and musters her courage. "I don't know if I trust myself not to... make a decision I'll regret. Or... that I won't blame... someone else for it unfairly."

"For the latter, choose not to. Choose to accept responsibility. For the former... What do you think you'll regret more? Doing it or not doing it?"

Merrill rolls her eyes, though the angle prevents either of the other two from seeing it. _Because it's that easy, love? Always so fierce and good, to anyone and everyone but herself._

Aveline laughs softly. "I don't know. It... it still feels wrong. To let... others see me, see us, being... together. But I think that's just... habit. Mostly. Maybe. But the thought I might cheat on you sickens me."

"It's not cheating. I give you permission." The hero smiles.

"It would feel like it to me," Aveline tries to explain. "It's not... I know it doesn't make any sense but I just can't... it would feel like cheating and a sin to me. It's dumb and irrational and I just.. I don't know if I trust myself to make the right decision. I've never been... overly passionate. What do I know about... acting like that?"

Walking over, Zevran frowns in thought. "Would it help if we- Merrill and I, promised not to... do anything you ask us not to? She is not taking the sap and I am, shall we say, not inexperienced in controlling myself during high passion, even that when it is enhanced by outside sources," he offers, no hint that he's referring to being dosed with drugs or enspelled to make him perform.

_Does it feel like cheating to her when I...?_ "I'll protect you," she says, quietly. "If you need me to. Do you trust me?"

"With everything," Aveline says without a hint of doubt. She then glances at Zevran and takes a breath. "Thank you. It does. Help. I... know you want to..." she gestures vaguely between them both.

Zevran shrugs. "It is not as if I am hard up for willing and eager partners. I shall survive, somehow."

Aveline snorts indelicately as she returns her attention to Hawke. "You're far more patient than I deserve," she murmurs. "And too understanding of my hang-ups."

Hawke glances away, feeling a bit guilty. "Thanks."

Only to be staring at Merrill, who reaches up to cup her chin. "Why sad eyes?" she asks gently, catching Aveline's attention as well.

"Later problems," she admits. "For now, we're meant to be celebrating, right?"

Aveline winces a bit. "I'm sorry Merrill, this is supposed to be your big day and I just-"

"Pzzzzbt," Merrill replies cheerfully as Aveline stares. "You're family. My days are your days. And night too. But in a not sexy way. Well, you are, but only if you want me to notice? Or well, I can't not notice but it only means something if you want it to?"

She stops babbling as Aveline begins to laugh softly, eyes warm. "Thank you again, Merrill. Alright. I want to do this." A pause. "Err, are you... going to be... part of this?" she asks belatedly.

"I... had thought to be, if they didn't mind but I'm thinking I'll leave once that stage of things kicks in," the nymph says kindly. "Though if you... finish and want to call me in, I was going to wait outside just in case I'm needed," Maeve asks a bit hopefully, offering her finger.

_A shame, but understandable._ "Thank you," says Hawke, smiling at Maeve.

Aveline looks a bit guilty but she doesn't correct or argue with Maeve. _I can handle Merrill and I hope Zevran won't... be too bad but her? A total stranger? No. And a magically attractive stranger? Absolutely no._ "I consent," she says softly, makes a face, then licks the sap off Maeve's finger.

"Alright," Maeve says brightly. "There's a minute or so of chanting on my part now but the three of you just have to stand there. Holding hands would be helpful but not-" Merrill is already holding two of their hands and Zevran grabs Hawke's free one. "Alright then. Everyone ready?"

Getting nods and affirmatives, she steps back and beings to speak in a rapid-fire mix of celestial and sylvian. Halfway through the chant, a second voice, this one deeper and ponderous, with an almost painful weight of years to it, joins the druidic fae. Finally, with a deep hollow popping noise, the ritual finishes.

"Alright then," Maeve says cheerfully. "That should-"

Merrill nearly leaps in front of her family, spinning to face them. She gestures over her head wildly. "Can you- I mean- do you see? Or hear?" she asks with great excitement.

"Hear what?" Zevran asks, brow furrowed. Aveline however seems to be distracted, head cocked as if listening for something.

And indeed- Hawke can... not see or hear, but _sense_ something as well. "Ah!" As the sensation hits her, Hawke cries out, closing her eyes to sense it better. It's hard to pin down, despite her efforts. She can feel that there's something in the room with them. No... three somethings? Four! One is huge, so huge it's hard to sense. But it feels like... solid ground under her feet and the fine grained shaft of her best staff in her hand after a long, tiring day. Maeve, silent now, seems to give off... a tingling sensation, like the caress of a new lover or the feel of a quill in hand as she tries to doodle. There's the feeling of vertigo, but not vertigo, coming from Merrill. It's more like... that pulling sensation you get when you look up a the clear night sky and really, truly look at the heavens. There's a fourth sensation but she can't pin it down, it's too muted compared to the other three.

She recognizes the sensations, somewhat, or at least, the dissonance. She feels them, not in her skin and her extremities like a real sensation, but deep in the quiet, still place her magic comes from, the place not located in her body at all, but somewhere deep in the core of her soul. "Bright Raplin," she whispers, turning her attention to the sensation -- and it's so familiar, why is it familiar? She's never felt a deity with her magic before. But something nags at her, something about... She pulls her attention away, smiling faintly as she senses Maeve -- of course, a caress, of course -- and then.. "Merrill, you're brilliant," she whispers, opening her eyes to beam at her lover.

"This is... very strange," Zevran remarks, glancing about curiously. _I can... taste? No... but that sounds less silly than 'smell with my tongue' so taste it is._ "I wouldn't have thought wood would taste so good, unless you're speaking in metaphor of course."

"Taste?" Aveline comments curiously. "I can feel them. Like... it's like how you can sometimes tell if you're being stared at, even without looking. But more.... and maybe less. Very strange, I'll agree with. But..."

"Interesting, yes," Zevran agrees softly, though somewhat intelligibly as he's stuck his tongue out to see if that makes it easier, getting delighted giggles from Merrill even as the elf beams back at Hawke.

"It's like my magic," says Hawke softly, still awed. "But not mine. Someone else, in my magic sense. Impressions, feelings, sensations."

Maeve chuckles. "That's pretty close to how it works, yes," she confirms. "Can you all feel Father? Many can't- too large, too close, it's like being too close to a picture to make out what the image is."

"What does he taste like?" Zevran asks absently, getting a belt of laughter from Maeve.

"Well, probably oaky. Maybe the wood taste you mentioned?" Merrill suggests.

"It, ah, seems a bit similar to... something I've tasted rather recently," Zevran says, giving Maeve a pointed look. "And the hint of... shall we say honey, suggests it's Maeve I'm tasting. Magically alas."

"Ground under my feet and the feel of my best staff in my hand," says Hawke. "That's Bright Raplin, I think? It feels... familiar, like something I've felt before, like..." She frowns, deep in thought.

"Well... this isn't first time you've met a deity," Aveline points out a touch tightly. "That could be it."

_This isn't--_ She lets out a soft cry, eyes widening. "Varric," she whispers, a tear sliding down her cheek as she closes her eyes. "Oh. That makes sense."

"Varric?" Maeve asks, tilting her head. "I'm not familiar with that deity," she begins, going silent at Aveline's snort, Zevran's bray of laughter and Merrill's giggles. "Or... not?"

The twice-lived shakes her head, smiling. "No, Varric is my Papa. He... when I spoke with Mileen, everyone I spoke about had a.... feel, to them. Their soul. His was... expansive, like Bright Raplin's. That's all I meant."

"Ah. That makes sense- no flesh in the way, you can see and... feel things more clearly," Maeve says with a nod of her head. "So... what else can you sense?"

"Besides you, I can taste... endless... nothing? With... flecks of... bubbly sweetness?" Zevran offers with puzzlement. "I cannot determine where it comes from however..."

"That sounds like Merrill? She feels like the stars to me."

Zevran nods slowly. "That makes sense," he says thoughtfully. "Evidently my brain thinks starts would taste like fizzy water mixed with rock candy."

Aveline chuckles. "I can feel Raplin- a stern but... not gentle but... benevolent maybe? A stern but benevolent regard. Merrill feels like... being stared at with lonely warmth," she says, her voice going from a neutral considering tone to gentle and a little sad.

Merrill ducks her head a little, feeling a touch... awkward at the description.

"Can you not sense me?" Maeve asks, trying to move them all past that last comment.

"A lusty anticipation," Aveline says dryly, then adds begrudgingly, "but not _entirely_ sexual. And there's also a... something else around Merrill. Wariness maybe?"

Huh. Hawke had sensed a fourth... focusing a bit more, trying to use the hint form Aveline, she can just barely make out a slight sensation. _Like... walking on cobblestone._ "Is that..." She turns, taking a step toward Merrill. "Introduce me to your friend properly?" she asks quietly.

Merrill bounces a little, mood swinging right back to ecstatic and eager. "Well, the star thing from me is Twinkles of course, the spirit of the Heavens Above that I bonded with when I was very little. The other one, that's harder to sense, is Nyrite. I thought..." She blushes a little. "Well, I just thought you'd like to met the spirit of the city you saved," she says softly. "Or, well, umm, part of it anyway. Nyra's really big so... Nyrite should probably be named Coalie I guess."

Aveline straightens a little, her eyes focusing hard on the space off the left of Merrill she can feel that wary, but also... gratiful... regard from. "Coalside's spirit," she murmurs, taking Hawke's hand absently.

Marian's breath catches in her throat, and she squeezes Merrill's hand. _The spirit of Coalside... The place that took me in, the place that almost killed me._ "Hello," she says quietly. "Very good to meet you."

Merrill giggles a little, head tilting. "Coalie likes you! Both of you!"

"Really?" Maeve asks, startled. "I mean, no offense, it's just that spirits rarely even notice people that can't interact with them. Individuals, I mean. Groups, sure, enough mortals or close enoughs to mortals, all thinking the same thing or doing the same thing can have an impact on their very nature. But for one to notice the two of you specifically is... interesting," she comments, gaze more on Aveline than Hawke, who is a twice-lived hero after all. _The ginger must be more special than I first realized. Hot too, if a bit... solidly built for my tastes. Jaw's a bit too square, but very nice eyes and curves admittedly._

"Aveline saved my life in Coalside, once. Down on Nova Street, that tiny little alleyway between the old bookseller and the flats at the very edge of cattown." She would never normally be so specific but... _It feels good to be **seen** , to be known. I can only imagine it's the same for a city._

"Coalie likes cattown," Merrill remarks. "It's a new thing- to a spirit anyway- but a good thing. Fuller and... slyer now."

Aveline snorts. "Sly is a good word for it, yes. Still, I can't complain too much. They look after their own for the most part, and while they have a lot of thieves, they're lightfingers and second story workers, not muggers or worse. What's more, they've pushed out or even helped get rid of a lot of those that _are_ that sort of 'worse.'"

Marian looks vaguely ill, but says only, "that they do. I've seen it first hand "

Zevran's face is rather blank as he inquires, "I can't not-taste anything that might be related to Coalside, even when I'm looking for it. Is that because I lack magical training?"

"Not so much training as potential," Maeve explains. "Even if you were trained, you'd never be able to do more than the absolute basics of shamanism or anything of that sort. Hawke would be decent at it, and Aveline a slight cut above that. Doubt any of you are looking at a path change, but kind of interesting, yeah?"

Hawke nods. "I wonder if I had this potential when I was young or if I acquired it?" _When I died_ , she doesn't add.

Maeve snickers a little. "Well... Part of it is just being you. Innate I mean. Part of it however... could be due to, ah, environmental factors. I wouldn't be surprised if Zevran was born was damn near zero potential for this sort of thing and 'picked up' what he does have from the same source you did," she adds with a playful leer at Merrill.

Aveline raises an eyebrow. "I assume my training and inclination towards channeling divine power is why my potential for... communing is so high?"

Maeve nods. "As you might guess from the fact that Raplin is both deity and spirit, there's a lot of... overlap between the two concepts. Some argue that spirits are divine powers even lesser than minor gods such as my Father, other say they're simply part of greater deities, while a few even claim that spirits are to gods what animals are to mortals. That one is the least supported but still my favorite to be honest. Mostly just of the way it feels."

Hawke nods, frowning in thought. "That makes sense. It doesn't seem like... they understand us, and speak to some of us, so animals seems... callous. But I would think the bottom of a rich web of powers makes sense. There are mortals with no talent for the arcane and mortals that seem halfway composed of it, so..."

"Mortal animals understand and speak to me all the time," Maeve counters with a smirk. "Not their fault you don't know how to listen."

"Bah," she replies. "Mabari don't count."

Maeve snickers. "No, I mean like... rabbits and dear, wolves and snakes," the druid replies with wry humor. "Though admittedly, most feel that your average spirit, ones powerful and aware enough to bond with a shaman, would be mabari level animals on the divine spectrum."

"So... Silence and Beka are like tiny little godlings?" Merrill asks with broad grin.

"Rabbits are food," she points out. "Food don't talk."

"Hawke, I can name at _least_ two dozen creatures- a handful of which are intelligent- that would happily consume all of us, given the chance," Aveline points out. "And I think I've heard you utter a word or two."

"Yeah, but they're evil and stuff," she points out.

"Never said they weren't evil," Aveline replies. "Just that the ability to talk isn't a good measure of whether a being is a person."

"That's fair. Never said what we talked about was stimulating or anything. Most animals talk about food, sex, danger and territory, be that land or objects. Not a lot of philosophical debates," Maeve adds. "Then again, most spirits can't say much on topics outside their direct origin so..."

"I'm just saying, eating something you can have a chat with usually means I can freeze you," grumbles Hawke.

"Sure, sure, but my point is that I can chat with a rabbit, so that's a bad measure," Maeve points out. "Might want to bump that up to 'have a complex chat' or something. One that involves planning for unusual events, or ethics, religion, or civics." She shrugs.

"Twinkles and Pep can do some of that," Merrill comments. "But Coalie, Loqueilianolos, Gusty and Elderite can't really think- or talk- about anything that's not simple and directly related to what they are."

"I wonder if, to the gods, we look much the same? Only able to talk about petty mortal concerns?" she muses.

"No comment," Aveline and Maeve say in unison. Aveline blinks, glancing at Maeve.

"The gods are strangely- annoyingly- silent on stuff like that, even to their direct children," the nymph explains. "I only wish they went with something as direct as 'no comment' when you ask, but that's something of a traditional joke among divine casters and priest."

Hawke laughs. "Mileen was nice," she protests. "Very kind. I don't think she'd say that sort of thing." _Or she was humoring me._

"Oh they're nice enough- well, the ones that should be anyway," Maeve allows. "Anyway. One argument for the whole 'spirits are either divine or part of divinity' is that, well, the more sensitive of you three can feel Father. And me, for that matter."

"Should I be calling you Bright Maeve?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "Don't get me wrong, I'd be glad to, it's just..." And then something unusual happens: Hawke turns bright scarlet. _Did I eat out a god?!_

"If you want to, sure," Maeve replies, then smirks. "As long as you're calling out _something_." Aveline slowly covers her face with one hand.

"Yes, Brightness," Hawke says, in a slightly awed tone.

Maeve winks outrageously, then laughs. "Nah, call me Wildling Maeve if you want to be formal- Father is a... vassal is close enough in mortal terms to Uryll. But for the most part, just Maeve is fine as an address. Or Raplin's Daughter, or a Daughter of the Oak if it's indirect. My sisters and I aren't gods, even tiny ones. More like... a fusion of really, really powerful outsider and fae. It's weird."

"You know, if you were interested, we could see if there's a rite or offering we can do to get Ciren's attention," Zevran remarks brightly. "If any god would be, I'm sure he'd be up for a three-"

"Four!"

"Foursome," Zevran finishes smoothly with a nod at Merrill.

"Why do I even know you people?" Aveline mutters to herself in celestial, not that anyone but Maeve understands her.

Hawke laughs. "If Ciren's not already paying attention to you, Zevvy, he's missing out."

"Oh, but yay for sexing up demigods and all, but I wanna see if you can talk with Twinkles," Merrill cuts in, bounding over to Hawke and Aveline. "Well, communicate anyway."

"Ahhh, alright Merrill... how?" Aveline asks slowly.

"...listen?" the elf offers helpful. "Or listen with your magic, so I guess it's more... feel harder for you two?"

Hawke nods, making herself comfortable on the ground, cross-legged. She closes her eyes, resting her hands on her knees and breathing deeply.

The next ten minutes or so are... interesting. Merrill has never tried to explain, much less teach, exactly how she talks to her spirits and to be honest, neither has Maeve. Well, to be more honest, she can't really talk to most spirits. Sense them, yes. Command them, sometimes. But communicate with them? Not unless you count her sisters or Father.

Eventually they find their way to... a partial success. Aveline is able to exchange a faint sense of... curiosity and desire for exploration from Twinkles, offering her own feelings of purpose and order back. Twinkles seems bemused by the later, but accepts the former. Hawke can't manage a bond of any sort with Twinkles, but for some reason can with Coalie. Not much of one, though Merrill is quick to remind them that Coalie is very young and not very complex yet anyway.

Evidently, Coalie shares similar feelings on the matter of giant spiders as Hawke. _Which only makes sense -- nasty things are second only to dragons in terms of being pests_. Hawke smiles faintly. There's something essentially right about these spirits, something profoundly Merrill-like in the whole concept. _It's rather like feeding horses_ , she decides. _The spirits sort of lip at you, gently, and you have to figure out what they mean from their movements. I hope they don't ever bite, though._ Being bitten by a horse was one experience Hawke was in no mood to repeat; despite being a country girl, she wasn't a farmer's daughter by any stretch of the imagination.

It is somewhat amusing, that given a single chance to communicate something with Hawke, that Coalie devoted its energy and focus entirely on sharing a mutual dislike for giant spiders. Hmmm. Actually... maybe it's more than just a general dislike? Huh, maybe do a sweep of the neighborhood when they get back, just in case.

Zevran doesn't manage to get much of anything from either spirit, but he also doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. As he puts it, "I prefer my spirits to be more... vocal. And tangible." And then, just in case he wasn't being clear enough, he adds, "and have a wicked smile. Curves are nice, as is an utter lack of gag reflex or need to breath."

Regardless, eventually enough time passes that Hawke can feel herself getting restless. Anticipatory.

"I figure you're edging close to the second stage of the sap's influence," Maeve announces, breaking off her flirting with Zevran with reluctance. "An hour is just a rough estimate of how long it takes for someone's metabolism to absorb it well enough so best to have a little buffer. Any last questions before I slip out?" the nymph asks, giving Aveline a somewhat hopeful glance. "Got anything you'll need? Lubricants probably won't be needed unless you flank but..."

"I am certain we can manage. Though light refreshments are always appreciated for this sort of thing. Thank you so much, I really appreciate your help." Hawke grins at Maeve.

Maeve smiles back, the expression warm and friendly instead of teasing or playful for once. "I have fun and it was really nice meeting you all." She steps forward to pull Hawke up for a hug. "Enjoy yourself now, alright?" After that, she whispers in Hawke's ear, "watch your paladin, I think she's going to be hornier than she's expecting."

"I'm counting on it," she murmurs back. _It will be good to see Aveline really let loose for once, and I trust the others and myself enough that she won't get in trouble._

"Alright, just be careful. I've seen more than one person do something they regretted in circumstances like this," Maeve warns her before setting the merikos elf down. "Well, I'm off. Like I said, I'll be right outside, just in case you need anything."

"Thanks again." With a smile, she heads for Aveline. "Come on, let's get comfortable before it gets rough."

Aveline is shifting a little, looking distracted as she flexes her hands, watching the show before her: Zevran and Merrill already making out, Merrill's hands roaming about under her love's shirt. Glancing over at Hawke, the paladin gives a jerky nod. "A-alright," she says, voice tight. "Marian... you'll... right, sorry, I know you will." She takes a deep breath, then reaches out for Hawke. "Kiss first?"

"Alright," she says with a smile. "May I place my hands on your butt while we do?" She's never really gone this elaborate with consent, but she's seen firsthand how comforting it can be. And truth be told, there's a little voice in the back of her own mind that is uncomfortable with this scenario. _Will I be able to stay respectful?_ it asks. _How far will I go?_

Aveline's eyes dart to the other two, then she nods. "You can touch me, amata, like always." _This will be fine. It's just being extra aroused, it's not a diminishing of judgement or mentality. You will still be able to control yourself. And the others wouldn't... they aren't like that. Even Zevran, slut he may be is a good and honest man. He won't take advantage of you. Make sure to get an eyeful yes, but that's fine. You knew you'd be giving it and decided that would be fine. It will be fine. Oh, I hope I'll be fine..._

\---

Breakfast the next day is a somewhat quiet affair, given that four of the party are still somewhat wrung out from yesterday. Maeve hadn't really thought to explain just how exhausted they'd all be after the experience, having assumed it'd be pretty obvious, but they'd all slept in several hours past dawn. When they all finally stagger down, it's just Malcolm and Marethari still in the dining room, quietly talking as they share some tea.

Spotting them coming in, Malcolm offers a wave, then signals the innkeeper to bring out the food they'd been thoughtful enough to have ready for them. "Morning ladies, Zevran."

"Morning Papa," she mumbles in Dwarven. _Is this what Merrill feels like every morning?_ "I mean, morning, father," she corrects in Elven.

"Feeling a bit under the weather this morning?" he teases her, rising to start pouring out strong tea for everyone.

Aveline grunts softly as she absently takes the offered mug. _What does this mean? That I wanted... that I... did what I did?_ The paladin glances sidelong at Merrill, then snaps her gaze back to her mug the second she realizes she's doing it. _If Zevran hadn't made the comment when he did- and I'm almost sure he did it for this very reason- then I might well have..._ She winces slightly.

Merrill is full blown zombie mode, even worse than normal. She hadn't take the sap, but she'd been... very active yesterday, active enough she'd bent her rule about not accepting healing for the aftereffects of lovemaking. Smile doesn't look like a Sound Burst could budge it though. On the other side of both spectrums, besides looking a bit tired, Zevran doesn't seem to be acting even a little different. "It was a very busy day," he replies with a smug grin. "Such a delightful, dazzling, delicious day."

Hawke gulps at her tea, then hisses as she burns her tongue. _I hate being fog-headed._ "Spirits were great," she manages, hoping to spare her father the rest of the details. She remembers what happened. But she's in public now, and that means Hawke the Hero needs to take control of the situation. _Can't let Zevran embarrass Aveline. Or freak out my dad. Or my Papa. Can't let Merrill think I didn't enjoy it, either._ "After was amazing," she adds, with a grin at her wife.

Merrill stares back blankly, her nose twitching, then she starts slightly as Zevran slips a mug into her hand.

"And this is _after_ Aveline was kind enough to try and heal our fatigue," he comments with a grin. "Poor Merrill... we should probably tuck her back in for more rest after she gets some food in her."

Marethari smiles warmly. "I'm very glad you were able to share that with your wife and... family. I wish I were young enough to have joined you," she says wistfully. Err, had no-one mentioned the post-spiritual-step orgy to her? Awkward...

Marian giggles. "It was a rare honor," she manages.

"It certainly seems to have brought the four of you closer together," Marethari comments as food is set out in front of them.

Aveline winces a little, quickly focusing herself on the food in no small part as to avoid looking anyone in the face.

"Oh my yes, it was very good, to see a little through our wondrous flower's eyes," Zevran says firmly. "Or, well, taste in my instance."

"Feel," adds Hawke. "it was like casting, but outside my body. Super weird. But totally cool. I got to meet my patron spirit."

"Your what?" Malcolm asks, looking confused. "You mean... your patron deity's... servant spirit? Is that a thing?"

"No, no," she laughs. "The spirit of Coalside. You see, they call me the Champion of Coalside, so in a sense, I am it's champion, and it my patron."

Aveline snorts a little. "Better than I got," she observes. "You got a wave and a tip off about giant spiders. I felt like I was getting a list of complaints and a request for... something. I think something to do with the streets?" She rolls her eyes, then frowns slightly as she gets sucked back in by her thoughts.

"Huh. I didn't realize that... places like that had spirits," Malcolm says slowly. "Not people-made places, I mean."

"Sure, why not?" replies his daughter. "I mean, how can you tell one place from another without a mortal-made map anyway, right?"

"That's rather insightful," Marethari says approvingly. "Golden Green has a spirit as well, though Merrill has said it's still very simple and weak. Which is reasonable, given that the town has existed for less than three centuries, a mere blink of time for immortal beings."

"I rather liked Maeve's spirit," Zevran offers brightly. "She was much easier to understand and... interact with."

Hawke's smile fades slightly. _**Only** three centuries._ "That makes sense, by spirit standards. And of course you like Maeve."

"Multiple times in fact," Zevran says blissfully, getting a disdainful look from Aveline.

"I think I'm done," she says shortly, grabbing a slice of nut bread and rising to her feet to leave.

Hawke sighs. "I'm sorry on his behalf," she says quietly, looking down at her mug. For a few moments, it had seemed like... but, no, things are back to normal now. "Do you want company? Or just Beka?"

"I-" Aveline pauses a moment, then sighs. "It's not his fault," she says softly. "And... if you want to. Not sure how good of company I'll be though," she warns her.

"Do you _want_ company?" she presses. "I'll be here waiting if you want to clear your head."

Aveline looks rather indecisive. "I... have no idea. Maybe? My head's all muddled up.... talking might help, I suppose," she says quietly.

Looking a touch uncertain, Zevran says, "I can look after Merrill... and I do apologize, Aveline."

She just shakes her head again. "It wasn't you, not really. Another day and I'd have just rolled my eyes and moved on."

Hawke sighs. "I'm probably not good company right now anyway," she says, with a fake chuckle. "Take Beka, talk it over with her. I find Silence is great for working my head out until I can figure out how to talk to someone else."

"That might be for the best," the paladin admits. She pauses, then leans over to give Hawke a long but chaste kiss. "Talk to you later, amata," she murmurs before heading off.

The rest of them finish their breakfast, the two elves that are awake making a point to keep the topic on the spirit meet-and-great part of yesterday. After they're done, Zevran asks Hawke to help him tuck Merrill in for a nap.

"Sure, of course," she says, draining the last of her third cup of tea. She helps him get Merrill upright, upstairs, and back into bed, kissing her forehead gently as she tucks her in. "Sleep well, beloved," she whispers in Elven. "I'll be right here when you get up."

Before she can leave the room, she feels Zevran come up next to her, then slip an arm around her waist. "I have but two legs and very little fur, but if you wish to talk..."

She sighs. "No, I-- it's fine. It's nothing, really. Just... well. Not the sort of thing you want to be dealing with." She gives him a smile. "You should relax, we're on vacation."

Zevran sighs, then tugs her over to a chair. Pushing her into it, he drapes himself across her lap and looks up at her expectantly.

His lover laughs. "I'm not running off to an airship, I'm just..."

"Trying to run away in a more metawhorical fashion?" Zevran asks dryly.

Hawke winces. "That was a terrible pun."

"I'm pretty, I don't have to be witty," he says, tossing his hair back and batting his eyes at her.

"You're impossible. I don't know what to do with you," she laughs.

"Love me?" Zevran suggest softly.

"Always," she replies instantly, her voice softer, with a warm smile.

He reaches up to cup her cheek. "And I you, the voice in the my darkness," he murmurs. "But today, let me be your voice, my love."

She sighs, slumping back against the chair. "I don't really know the problem myself. I just... my thoughts keep..." She takes a deep breath, lets it out.

"Aveline said... it would feel like cheating to be with someone other than me. But I'm with someone other than her all the time. Is that cheating? Should I want to settle down with her, or forsake her because of Merrill? I thought we got past all that years ago but with Aveline I'm never sure. And now she's acting weird this morning and I didn't let anyone touch her, I was good and stayed with her even when I wanted to join you two, because I knew she couldn't swap partners because she only wants to be touched by me, but it's still weird, and I'm worried she's freaking out that you even saw her naked and I had thought maybe we were getting along better but we're not and--" She pauses here to breathe.

"Hey, hey, hey," Zevran says gently, sliding her hand around to the back of her head to gently massage it. "Aveline is... a very complicated person. Very... rule-focused. Just because she feels like it would be wrong for _her_ doesn't mean it's wrong for _you_. Or even that she thinks it's wrong for you. You do need to talk to her about this, sooner than later."

He'd noticed that Hawke only slipped away to join them twice, once when Aveline had attempted to meditate after taking the leading edge off, and then again near the end with the paladin was mostly worn out. She might be highly conditioned for strenuous activity but it's not the same really, and Hawke was able to tire her out well before she herself or Zevran were done. "I think I know what she's struggling with but it would be better coming from her," he adds. "It's not... a bad thing, I think, if she can accept it. And for you, I think she can."

"Ever the optimist," she says, with a soft sigh. "I know I have to do this. I should have talked through some of this before we were bound, really. But... I guess that's what the binding is for: to know that even if we disagree, she won't leave me over it." _Unless she wants to dissolve our union, which I'd do for her and she knows it. Gods, what a mess._

Zevran snorts. "Hawke, _none_ of us, vows or no vows, could walk away from you," he informs her. "Even ma'bella cannot stay away for long, and given her nature, that is rather telling."

She grimaces. "If you say so."

"Hawke," he says sharply, his voice a command to look at him. "We love you. We will _not_ abandon you. You took us all in, give us homes and love and family. You're our world and we will support you, care for you and help you until death and afterwards if there's any mercy in the gods."

Marian's eyes well with tears. "She almost left me before," she whispers. "I hurt her badly, and I know it, and I've spent years trying to make it up to her, and it's still not enough. Maybe never will be enough. I'm... I've been trying to understand that, to come to terms with it, but I thought... I had thought we were doing better, now."

"You _really_ need to talk to her," Zevran says, frowning slightly. "You are so good for each other, even I can see it. She... might prefer to have more of you to herself, but I think... I could be wrong, I cannot read minds, but I think even if she could have you for herself, even if the rest of us would be okay, she would not take you."

"I hope you're right," she says quietly, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I know I'm being childish about this, I just... I was afraid I'd hurt her, and now I'm afraid I have."

"Maybe you did... but that might not be a bad thing. Sometimes, pain is a sign you're growing. Healing," Zevran says slowly. "And she hurt you, did she not? That comment about cheating cut deep, even if I don't think she meant it as an attack of any kind."

She nods. "I've tried _so hard_ to be good, to make sure everyone's okay at all times. I was already feeling guilty about this, about... well... Maeve said it was natural, like coming into season." She lets that one hang in the air a moment.

"Oh Hawke," Zevran whispers, shifting up so he can hug her closely. "This was _fine_. You kept honor, you stayed in control and no-one was pushed or forced." He pauses a moment, trying to feel his way through things. He doesn't want to make any guesses, put theories in her head, in case he's wrong. "It was nothing like Rosemary, I swear," he finally says instead.

Hawke still flinches. "I know," she says, a little more forcefully than she meant to, her hand twitching faintly. "I know," she says again, quieter. "I still... worried. Beforehand. I knew it wasn't the heat, not really, that pushed her that hard, but... I had to wonder, a little, what it would be like." She takes a deep breath in, lets it out. "It was... nothing much at all, really, in the grand scheme of things. A bit like I feel after being told to sit on my hands for a while, but sustained, longer lasting. Something I could easily grow used to, something I would have learned to adapt to by now if I'd started when I first got to Nyra."

Zevran nods slightly, a wan smile in place. "Agreed. I think a true heat might be more powerful, but even if were half again as strong, it would not be so bad as to take control of me." He rests his head against her own. "How are you doing with... this revelation?"

She shakes her head, her throat closing up against the words. Again, she sees it: the house, smelling of musk and the sharp, sweet scent of female; Rosemary's fur, brushing against the sore places on her body; her tongue, scraping against flesh already raw and not at all welcoming; her teeth sinking into resisting flesh, her claws kneading into a body gone limp. _She had to have known. She had to have. I wasn't responding like Aveline was; when Aveline stopped having fun, I wanted to find another partner, not... do **that** to her. _

"You are nothing like her," Zevran whispers. "You would sooner take a vow of chastity than hurt someone in such a vile way."

"I would," she agrees quietly. "I would sooner die."

"And that makes you the wonderful person you are," he assures her. "You might make missteps, but it's never done from cruelty. Ignorance, hurt, even impatience, but never cruelty or uncaring."

"Does it hurt less?" she asks, trying for a wry smile. "People rarely accidentally try to kill me."

"It does actually," Zevran offers. "The pain lacks a certain... hook to it," he explains a trifle too knowingly.

"I'm sorry," she says, automatically, reaching to stroke his hair.

"For saving me? For bringing light and love back to my soul? For showing me what family really means? For giving me a home and a family?" He gently kiss her; jaw, chin and lips. "You fiend. How dare you think paltry words would be enough to apologize for such things."

Now she laughs. "I know, how wicked am I, my black heart knows no bounds."

"Well, if my black skin is not sign of evil, then your black heart must be much the same," he offers gamely. Doubts still linger in his eyes, but they're... lesser. Muted.

"Your skin is beautiful," she whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Just like the rest of you."

"Give me time," he promises. _Perhaps one day, I will be able to think that, from heart to soul, but in the mean time, knowing you believe it... it is enough, most of the time._ "But we were speaking of you, as much as you prefer to help others over yourself."

"We were," she sighs. "But I'd much rather focus on the lovely tidbit in my lap than old ghosts."

"And you can be focused on me as we talk about your worries," Zevran counters neatly.

She grimaces. "I meant, if I remember much more about Rosemary I'm going to ice something and wake Merrill up."

"Ah. Well, forget that sick-hearted waste of life," he says easily, the curses sounding almost charming thanks to his airy tone of voice. "How are you feeling about yesterday? Do you... regret what happened?"

"No," she says, quickly. After a moment, she adds, with a weak smile, "not unless it loses me Aveline. Then... I'd have to think real hard about it."

"It would be understandable- no, that's not... I would be honestly a worried and upset if you were _not_ upset if you lost one of us, Aveline to Zevran," he says firmly, a brief flicker of a smile at the slight joke. "Even if that which lead to the loss was a memory of something that was a happy one before the loss." The merikos drow pauses to run that sentence though again to see if it came out coherently.

She nods. "I can't... I can't give up Merrill for her. I just can't. I could... no offense, but if she wanted me to have less sex with you, I know you wouldn't be hurting for it. But not entirely, and then there's Isabela to think of, and--" She groans, rubbing her face. "This is a mess. I've made a complete mess of things."

"I'll be blunt, my love, if Aveline- or any one of us tried to take you from the rest, I'm pretty sure said rest would unite and... correct their misunderstanding of reality," he replies evenly. "But I do not foresee that happening. If pressed, I would think Aveline is much more likely to.. remove herself as one of your lovers, rather than claim you for herself alone." _Point of fact, I suspect Aveline feels guilty rather often for 'making' you be with her. She is not unaware that she is the... odd one out in many ways._

Marian lets out a small whimper, but tries to play it off with a small laugh. "I've never been dumped before, maybe it'll be fun."

"Unlikely," Zevran replies gently, referring to both the dumping and it being fun. "But you will not be alone and I have faith in both of you."

"Thank you," she says, stroking his hair a few more times.

\---

When Aveline gets back, Hawke's waiting in her room, alone, having sent Malcolm and Marethari off on excuses. She's brought a couple of ales upstairs; it's her third, but she waited until Zevran popped into mention he'd seen Aveline returning to grab hers and head up. She nods to the woman as she enters, gesturing for her to take a seat. _It's not Varric's office, but it's the closest I'm going to get here on vacation._

Aveline snaps to a halt as she spots: "Hawke." That one is just 'surprise,' which is fair enough. A pause then, before the guardswoman glances around. "I wasn't... did you need something?" she asks carefully.

"No," she says, with a sigh. "But... we need to talk."

Aveline's breath catches and she pales slightly. "I... okay. Of course, I was..." She nods, the movement jerky. "I was expecting this, I think," she adds tightly as she moves to stand across the room from Hawke. Without any real thought, she slips into a parade rest stance, back stiff as she braces herself.

"No, you're not," she says, tiredly, picking up her mug. "Sit. Drink. Please."

"I'm fine, thank you," Aveline replies stiffly. _If this goes as I fear, I want to be able to leave without delay. I have enough coin to buy a horse and start heading back. Should be able to get ho- to Nyra in a few days if I push, healing the horse as I go._

"This isn't--" She stops herself, sighing, and takes a drink before putting her mug down. In a quieter, almost frightened voice, Marian starts again: "This is only a breakup speech if you want it to be."

"Never," Aveline blurts out, then flushes. "I love you Hawke. I've never doubted that since the moment I realized it. Doubted myself, doubted I was brave enough to risk loving again, that I'm worthy enough for you, doubted I could relax enough to fit in your life... but never have I doubted I love you."

"You asked me once if love was enough." She stares down into her ale, rolling the mug between her palms anxiously. "Is it? For you? Or do you need.... exclusivity, as well?"

Aveline shakes her head. "If you could... limit that, limit who you love, you wouldn't be you. I love you, not whoever that would be. No, this is my failing, not yours." She takes a deep breath. "I... I don't know if... gods, I thought I worked this out, time and time again, I've thought I had this but every time I come back again to look at it after, it's flown into a dozen pieces without a sign."

_If you can be with me. If you can accept my other lovers. If you can be around my other lovers. If you can put your career on the line to have me and be content with my not sacrificing nearly as much. She chides herself for thinking of the worst-case scenario, but her traitorous imp fires back with worse: If you can bear to watch me die before I'm old. If you can stand knowing I'll abandon you someday._ Hawke takes a long drink, as much to hide her face as to stop herself from speaking up.

"I met Wesley when we were young," Aveline says out of nowhere. "I was eight, he was nine. Had me by fourteen months. We... it was always him. I didn't realize it until we were much older of course, almost twenty two, but it was always him. When we informed our commander we'd wanted to start dating, he was shocked, having assumed we'd already been doing so. I never so much as looked at anyone else, even before then. I... had... stirrings of course, but it was never from anyone, nor for anyone." She licks her lips. "Sorry, this is taking longer than- I just... I want you to understand, at least as much as I can help you given I don't understand my own damn self. I've never been... never... wanted someone I didn't love. I just... don't. But... I did. I mean... maybe I do?" She lets out a low groan, finally breaking her stance to press her palms against her temples.

_But it was always him._ Hawke braces herself for it, for the truth: it was never her that way, never the way it was Wesley. _That's absurd. Why would she bind herself to you if she didn't love you? She just said she did! Are you really that insecure?_ She takes a quick breath, trying to steady herself; Aveline's admission catches her entirely off-guard. "Aveline... my darling, brilliant Aveline, my Maoroi, can you... what are we talking about?"

"I... I feel... attracted. To Merrill," Aveline mumbles from behind her hands. "Before yesterday." Then she drops her hands, adding urgently, "but I love you, I do. And I'm very attracted to you. Still."

Her shoulders sag in relief. "Is that all? I thought-- I didn't realize that was new. She's a very attractive woman, my wife."

"Arrrg, Hawke... it's not 'is that all' to me," Aveline snaps. "I don't..." She shifts a little, glancing away. "...what if I... during the... Memento fight, I... I remember..." She doesn't have Hawke's memory, but some things engrave themselves deeply all on their own. "'Wesley, I'm sorry, please wait a little longer,. Please forgive me for needing you to wait, for needing more time with Marian.' I... What if... I can't love more than one person at a time? what If I'm falling out of love with you for Merrill? I can't- I can't do that to you, or to me, I don't-"

"Aveline!" It's the third time she's tried to stop her; the first didn't leave her throat, the second a whisper. The third comes out loud enough to be heard, but pained. "I-- I really do love you," she whispers, eyes flooding with tears.

"What? I know that," Aveline says, off-balance. "I know you love me, that's why would it be so terrible if I... stopped loving you. The idea of hurting you, abandoning you... I just _can't_."

"Then why--" She chokes on the words, wiping at her eyes. "You talk about _cheating_ , about -- as if those things were -- as if nobody could ever --"

Aveline takes a few steps forward, hand coming up to reach for Hawke, before she falters. "I- what are you- Hawke, I'm talking about _me_ , not you. I know you can love people like... that, I just... I'm not as...loving or... emotionally... whole as you."

"Do you? Do you trust me? After how I hurt you, after how I almost lost you, after all the ways you need me and I can't give you, you really trust me?" She knows she's not making much sense, but the tears won't stop.

"Hawke, I-" Aveline takes a deep breath. "I do trust you. I trust you more than myself. I... know we have some... places where things are... hard. I have some... issue with your carelessness with legalities but I can adapt to that. But your love life doesn't... It took a little while to get used to it at first, and I do... sometimes wish I had more time with you, but that's more often because of my job than your being with someone else. And most of the time you're with someone else, the wouldn't care if I joined. It's my hangups that are getting in the way, not anything you do or are. It's _my_ fault, amata."

"When I die," she whispers, not looking up, not daring to see Aveline's face. "Will you be bitter, regretful, that you had so little time with me?"

"...regret... probably, yes. But not bitter. I think that would come if I... didn't try to be happy with you," Aveline says slowly. "And... well, there's as good a chance I'll die before you," she points out. "Both have roughly the same lifespan and my job isn't much safer than yours by any measure."

"You're smarter than me," she whispers, forcing enough of a smile onto her face that hopefully the guardswoman will know she's joking. The tears are slowing, at least, the words sinking in slowly, soothing her fears.

"I doubt that," Aveline says, trying to smile. "I love you, Marian Bellflower Tethras Hawke. I just... hope I'm worthy of that. L-l-loyal to that."She flinches a little at the stutter.

"You love me," she says quietly. "I don't think that... goes away. Not just because... not over... not because of someone new."

"Does it? Maybe not for you, but I'm not as..." the paladin's mouth twists. "I actually like Lady Lawful. It's... me, but not biting. Far more than the previously most tolerable one: Mistress Mechanus. Or the more popular but less clever 'Lt. Heartless Bitch.' I've never been outgoing and I rusted solid after Wesley died. I don't know if... what if I just... don't have enough love to..."

"You could have held me longer, when we first met," says Hawke, quietly. "Attempted solicitation without a license, attacking a guardswoman with arcane arts, you could have thrown the book at me. But you didn't. You weren't heartless, or rusted solid, or anything like that. You were struggling to keep your life together without help, and you did brilliantly. You've always had more compassion than you believe, Aveline."

"I have," Aveline says quietly. "Thrown the book at people, some of whom didn't deserve it, not really. I just... something about you, even then, I just... couldn't. I don't know Hawke, I just... I'm so afraid I'll mess this up, that my... inflexibility will finally be too much and I'll chase you away and my heart twists and clenches at the mere thought."

"Just like mine does, when you talk like that. When you act like you're not good enough for me. You're wonderful, Avaline. I don't ever think you'd hurt me. And... I don't think you're incapable of faithfulness. I don't know the future, hero or no, but I can hope and trust."

"I... I know," Aveline admits in a quiet voice. "When I think it through, when I work it out, I know it's a stupid fear really. That I don't love you any less since I've started to... care for Merrill. But it just... falls apart when I look away and when it comes back to the fore, it's just as jumbled and... toxic as last time."

Hawke nods, slowly. "I'm... No good at this kind of thing. I usually go to Varric. Maybe... You might need to talk to a Priest of Ciren. Seli, or a stranger if you prefer."

"Beka does her best, but I suppose I should talk this out with someone that can talk back." Recalling what Maeve had said yesterday, Aveline smiles faintly, then adds, "well, talk back in a tongue I can understand anyway." She takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. "Did... I'm sorry you had to... miss out on some- no, most- of yesterday to take care of me. I... I hate being so selfish, I just..."

"You're not selfish," she says quickly, finally looking up at her protector. "No more than I was when I needed a minute when Jassinth bit me the other day."

"He bi-" Aveline snaps out, eyes flashing for a second. "Oh, you mean like..." She flushes a little. "That... bothers you?"

Frowning, she continues, "is there... anything I do that..?" _She might not mention it, if it's only a little bothersome for her because she's a blasted martyr like tha, but if I ask outright, she'll tell me. She's a lot better at lying than when we first met but she's still not good at lying to her loved ones. Wish I could give her just a bit of my selfishness, she could really use some..._

She shakes her head. "You'd know," she says, her tone flat, dark. She takes a deep breath, clearly pushing something away. "But, no. Biting is... I forget you didn't see me back then. I don't do rough play like that anymore."

Aveline swallows thickly. "You'd tell me? Please? If I ever do anything... you don't like, even a little? I ask so much of you, I don't..."

"Of course." She looks solemn. "I wish you'd trust me."

Aveline blanches. "What? I- it's not that I don't- it's just you'd rather suffer than make us unhappy and I just..."

She starts to protest, but... "Sorry," she says, ducking her head. "I'm going about this all wrong, I just... It feels like that's the central issue here. Trust. I trust you to be honest with me, and I trust your heart to still want me, and I trust you to tell me if that changes. But it feels like you don't trust me to want you, to be honest about my feelings and my needs, to love you no matter what. And... You don't trust yourself, your own heart. And it makes me doubt you trust mine. How can you hold me, a serial screw up, to a higher regard than you, a woman of outstanding honor and integrity?"

"Because you're Hawke! I might be more honest or-or adhere to the law more closely, but you are so much better than me or anyone I know when it comes to loving others," Aveline protests. "I _don't_ doubt you, I doubt me being worthy of you. Or being..." She groans. "I don't even know. I just... I... if I see us... faltering, it's me that I see being the fuck up. Not you. I might be... terrified of losing you but that's not- you're a hero. So am I. I can't fault you for living a life like that. It took me far too long to get past that, but I am. If you die, for good... I'll shatter. But I'll get back up again. I'll make myself live again. I won't abandon the rest of our... family. I swear it."

Marian nods, tears welling back up as she looks down at her mug. "Times like this, I don't feel like Hawke the Hero. I just feel like Marian the mage." Something about the way she says 'mage' sounds off -- like it's a curse she's embarrassed to utter in front of the paladin. "But I try. For you. For my Clan. Can you... Do the same? Try to be your best self, and let that be enough?"

Aveline winces a little. _That... was a well placed cut, my amata. But not an unkind one._ "Alright. I... I'll try. I'll love you and... trust that I won't falter with that, even if I do come to care for Merrill more than... more than just caring. You make this seem so simple, my wonderful, loving Mage Marian," she huffs. And when she says the word, it's a loving caress, a proud smile.

She flinches, ever so slightly. So... Not a great headspace, then. "For what it's worth, I hope you do come to truly love Merrill. She's worth it. And love is always worth celebration, no matter what form."

Aveline steps forward, then pauses. "May... I'd rather like to cuddle. Just cuddle," she adds, then winces again. "Not that I don't... no, stop it. She knows you don't want a lot of sex and she's fine with it. It's fine, I'm fine," she scolds herself.

Marian drains her ale. "Cuddling sounds great."

Aveline eagerly moves to seat next to her love, pulling the smaller woman in close with a relieved sigh. After a moment, she say softly, "it's her hands."

"Merrill has amazing hands," agrees Hawke.

And cue eyeroll- her _normal_ eyeroll. "Not for that, pervert." She pauses, then coughs. "...not... mostly like that." Louder, rushes to add, "when she gets really excited, she wiggles her fingers. Not at people or anything, just... it's like she can't help but move. She has dozens of little... tells like that. She's just so... open. Innocent. It's precious and I just want to hold her close and keep her happy."

"Yeah," agrees Marian with a happy sigh. "It took me a while to realize, she's... Really that open and sweet. There's no guile or protective instinct to hide her feelings. It's one of the reasons I can't stand to see her hurt."

"Do... do you think... gods, this is silly," she mutters at herself. "I can't see clear enough to judge- is it silly to wonder if I should... gods, ask her out? If it is, should I do it anyway? Will she... I mean, if I can't, if it doesn't become... more, will she be okay? I don't want to disappoint her."

"Merrill adores you," Hawke assures her. "Remember.... Just after Moe? When you spent the night? She was thrilled. Even if she doesn't feel the same, she's bound to be flattered and happy you asked."

Aveline blushes a little. "I think that was when I first... thought of her that way. It was just for the night- or at least, I convinced myself it was for a while but..." She sighs a little, pressing a kiss against Marian's temple. "You're so good for me. Thank you, amata."

Marian smiles, nestling up to Aveline. "I hope so."

Aveline is silent for a bit longer, just relaxing as she holds Hawke close to her. "How are you doing?" _I'm... mostly settled in. I still need to do a lot of thinking- about how to ask Merrill out if nothing else. My turn to help you, amata._

Hawke sighs, shaking her head. "Better, now that I'm with you."

"Is better good? Because if you were as stressed and sickened as I was when I thought you might have finally realized how shit I am at this then 'better' doesn't really mean much," Aveline replies, giving Hawke's hand a squeeze.

She groans. "You see right through me," she whimpers, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. "No, I'm not... good, as you say. I'm still unsettled. Truth be told, I've been thinking of Rosemary again, and that never leads to good places -- or much sleep. But I'll manage."

Aveline stills a moment, then forces herself to relax. "What... what brought that on?" _Was... I didn't think I was that... that any of us were... pushy. Were we?_

"Something Maeve said. The... sap event went well." She adjusts herself, shifting to fit better against Aveline's side.

"...do I need to have a stern word with her?" Aveline says lightly. "She's a bit bigger than me, but I'm sure I can take her. My god's a dragon, hers is just a tree," she tries to joke.

"Her god's a little closer at hand," she points out, with a chuckle. "No, it's not-- just, she said something about it being like coming into season."

"Oh my love," Aveline says gently, kissing her temple. "But none of us... got too pushy, right? We stayed in control. It was nothing like that." A beat and her eyes widen unseen. "Hawke, I swear, I never once felt pressured, if that's what- if you're worried that... I didn't. Ever."

"I know," she whispers. "I didn't, before. But I know, now. What it felt like. What it must have been like."

"Ah." Aveline is starting to realize just why Zevran had seemed so... shuttered and yet pleased when she'd asked what had been done about Rosemary. And also that it's a good thing she'd never followed up on it, given that if this is how she feels after all this time has passed... Zervan, coming in right after and being the one to help her through it alone for the first few hours, must have been an incarnation of wrath. "You're safe now," she finally says, realizing she's been silent for a moment. "You know now, and... it must hurt, to have to give up that last... justification for the ill behavior of someone you once trusted. But you're safe and loved and it will get better again."

"Last," she laughs bitterly. "There will always be another excuse for Rosemary. Another way I'm not--" She cuts off, then, staring down at her hands.

"Tethras Hawke, look at me," Aveline orders, using her Captain Voice.

Hawke looks up, a little frightened -- enough to let Aveline clearly see the pain and insecurity writ across her face before she smooths it over, tries to hide it with a sarcastic, "Yes ma'am?"

"You are worthy. You are wonderful. You are not broken or anything of the sort. You are a compassionate, generous and forgiving woman with a heart filled with endless love." Aveline leans in so all they can really see is each other's face. "You did _nothing _to deserve or warrant the pain she gave you. _She_ was in the wrong. _She_ committed an act of evil. _She_ is the one that isn't good enough for _you_."__

__Hawke breaks down into sobs, leaning forward to press her face against Aveline's torso, desperate to hide, to get away from that relentless gaze. "I think Merrill isn't the only one that should have gone back to sleep," Aveline murmurs, pulling Hawke close. "Come on, let's get in bed and we can cuddle the rest of the day away, alright?"_ _

___If I'm bad enough, truly bad enough to need Zevran levels of comfort..._ The hero nods, meekly, letting the paladin help her up._ _

__Aveline leads them to the bed, stripping their shoes and pants off, but leaving the rest. They slip into bed and Aveline curls around her amata, arms loose but warm. "Sleep my love. I'll be here when you wake," she murmurs._ _

__\---_ _

__The next day is spent with Brienne, trying to deepen the newly formed and fragile family bond before they have to leave. And leave they must- Varric can't really afford to stay away from Nyra much longer and neither can Zevran for that matter. When this was brought up, people had glanced at Aveline, who had scowled before muttering that she still has about fifty days of leave stored. Regardless, they plan to head out the next morning, bright and early._ _

__Well, bright anyway, as the triad had rushed back to the inn two hours after dawn with sheepish but satisfied grins. Had to say goodbye to Maeve and Jassinth, didn't they? The trip back to Nyra is smooth and uneventful really, the greatest 'challenge' they face is a rather stupid owlbear. It's not the best plan to roar an alert when you're still two hundred feet from a party of adventurers, particularly if they have ranged attacks and you do not._ _

__On more personal matters, when they're still a day and half out, Varric makes a point of volunteering to go find wood for the lunch fire. And if Varric willingly doing something wilderness-related wasn't sign enough, the solemn nod and wink from Merrill would have been enough. The resulting sigh and chuckle from Aveline and Zevran respectively were just amusing at that point._ _

__A minute or two out, a handful of sticks gathered each, and Varric clears his throat. "So, uh... Been doing some thinking. Planning. As I do."_ _

__"Never a good sign," she jokes. "I'll have shovels and alibis ready."_ _

__"That's my girl," Varric says with a grin. "But it's not that kind of plan. Well... probably not? I mean, it really shouldn't go any sort of that way. Have to be an outside variable to make the odds hit significance..." Hawke is not the only one that can be distracted by a interesting or well-timed shiny thought._ _

__"Maybe clue me in first?" She asks, laughing._ _

__"Hmm? Oh, right, sorry," he says, rubbing his ear a bit sheepishly. "Did some thinking, like I said, trying to go over what I know that I hadn't paid attention yet because it's only now relevant." When one is as supernaturally intelligent as Varric is- or Hawke is for that matter- and devotes themselves to study, one often has huge chunks of information or knowledge that only becomes useful upon later reflection._ _

__"Not much to do while we travel, idiot magical beast aside, so I was planning for stuff when we get home," and by yearning in that word, Varric is very much a city-dwarf. "Came up with a short list of folks that might be suitable for talking to about delicate matters. Trained, compassionate, discreet and so forth."_ _

__"For... My clinics?" She asks, a little puzzled._ _

__Varric coughs, then looks around for more firewood. "In a... rather indirection fashion," he demurs for a moment. "For you. Someone to talk to about your battle shock?" He coughs again. "Not going to trust just anyway with you after all. Figured I'd go with a few times, maybe talk to them myself, make sure they're on the up and up. That sort of thing."_ _

__Hawke frowns slightly. "You don't have to. I'm sure anyone would be fine." _Right. I have to do that when I get back. Court mandated. I wonder if I can just take Seli to tea and like? No. I need to get better. I just... One more person to hold me accountable is the last thing I want. One more person to manage. And I am so tired already....__ _

__"I know I don't," he says simply. "Doing it anyway mind you, because I want to."_ _

___Maybe talk to them myself, he said._ "Wait, talk to them or _talk_ to them?"_ _

__"First the first then the second. Hey, can you burn wood if it's dirty? Like really dirty? It's a nice size but... does that poison the smoke or anything?" Varric asks, not delaying between thoughts to kind of... ease past it._ _

___Oh. That's a different matter._ She doesn't answer his question about the stick, watching him for a moment. "It's... Kind of terrifying, isn't? Wondering what... What does it mean if I do have... Some problems? It's... Well, I've been stuck in my head for a bit, but it's like saying the r-word about the whole Rosemary situation. Like there is some cliff I am about to walk off that I can't take back "_ _

__"It's the... lack of control that gets me," Varric says, tossing the stick on the ground. "I can't... plan for what'll come up. I mean, if I knew enough to plan around it, I wouldn't need to... talk, would I?" He's not quite looking at her, but he's not _avoiding_ her gaze either, exactly._ _

__"True." She sighs. "I've grown used to having no control, really. I react and I cope."_ _

__"Which is catching up on you." Varric sighs a little. "You do good Hawke, but no-one can keep the pace you try for. You need to try and learn to relax a bit. You ever think of getting a hobby? And actual hobby, not a cause?"_ _

__"Huh? Why?" She turns to him, honestly puzzled._ _

__Varric stares a moment. "Hawke... you're tense enough to use as an anvil," he says bluntly. "You need to relax more than you do. I also think that..." He coughs a little, looking about twenty kinds of awkward and uncomfortable. "Maybe that we should... start... talking. As a Clan. Like... maybe biweekly dinners and... interacting all evening. All of us."_ _

__She flinches a hint at the latter suggestion. "I don't think so, no."_ _

__"Why not? Most of us get along pretty well already," Varric points out. "Just a few of the outliers that could use a bit more time getting to know each other."_ _

__She hesitates, staring down at a stick in her hand. "Maybe... Or maybe it'd get worse."_ _

__"Better to know than to have that hanging over your head, wouldn't it be? Plus, if we're all there, we can help instead of it all falling on your shoulders," he says._ _

__"No," she says, firmly, before he's even done with that sentence._ _

__Varric continues anyway, pushing past her objection. "You might be the origin of this little Clan of ours, but you shouldn't be doing all the work for it. That's a failing on our parts and it's past time we starting pulling our weights."_ _

__She continues shaking her head as he talks. "It's not about pulling your weight, it's about not losing anyone. Not again."_ _

__Varric gives her another look. "Hawke... even if we loathed each other- which we don't and I can't imagine happening short of mind magics- we still wouldn't leave _you_. Trust us. Please."_ _

__She closes her eyes for a moment, visibly taking a deep breath, letting it out. Slowly, her shoulders slump, the tension pushed out of them. "I know," she says, quietly. _It seems the imps are coming out by daylight lately.__ _

__Varric glances around, steps over to her, glances around again, then pulls her into a hug from the side. "Deep breaths. Focus on something positive. Anything at all. Focus just on that."_ _

__She presses a kiss to the top of his head, nodding. _Varric really is a treasure, isn't he? I'm so glad I found him when I did. I would be... not in a good place now if I hadn't met him._ "I'm okay," she says, a moment later. "It's just been... a little harder the past few days than I let on."_ _

__Varric pulls away a bit, though he stays close. "Right... out of curiousity, how many 'past few days' have there been in a row?"_ _

___Ouch. He's got me pegged, though._ She tries to think back, looking for a good, solid day she can point to in order to wriggle out of the question on a technicality._ _

__A few long moments later, she's still thinking, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach._ _

__"Yeah. And this was your vacation," he points out gently. "Like I said, it's time for us to start pulling our weight to help make this all work. You look after yourself for a bit, we'll muddle on along just fine together, alright?" _No chance she'll go for it, not really, but if we compromise a bit, maybe she can relax some.__ _

__She sighs. "I feel like I just _stopped_ doing that. First it was Rosemary, then after Denarius there was so much wedding planning and Light stuff to catch up on I feel like I neglected the lot of you horribly, and now this..."_ _

__"Neglected? What on... no. Very no. Hawke, I can assure you that I feel no neglect at all. Not saying I want to see less of you or anything, so don't start worrying this is me trying to brush you off," he adds quickly. "Just saying that we all know you care about. And such. You have nothing to prove, daughter mine," Varric assures her, slipping tin dwarven for that last phrase._ _

__"Thanks, Papa," she says, with a smile. "It's probably fair, to get together. If there's any chance any of you can bond like Merrill and Zevran have... I just worry about Zevran and Aveline, or Isabela and Aveline."_ _

__"I admit I do worry about her sometimes. She's... a bit of the odd one out. Which worries me more than her being the odd one out." Varric frowns, realizing that doesn't make a lot of sense outside his head. _Stupid having to only use one language to express a thought. Much more efficient to simply use whatever word or syntax is best suited for the current meaning. It's a rare thought I can't codify best in at least three languages._ "I worry more than she'll feel like a tacked on addition and maybe feel left out and unwelcome than I'm worried about her not fitting in- about the qualities she has that indicate she might not fit in," he finally manages._ _

__Hawke nods. _Maybe she'll hit it off with Merrill,_ she thinks. "And Isabela. And Wynne."_ _

__"Well, I'm not expecting everyone to find a deep and eternal bond like you, Shadow and Moonbeam, Flirty and Shadow, me and Wynne or you with everyone, but it would be good if more of us were close to each other," Varric explains. "I mean, Lawful and Moonbeam seem to be getting on pretty well, better than they were before this trip so... could happen. And it'd be good for Lawful to make more friends, maybe loosen up a touch."_ _

___I keep forgetting how close he's getting to Wynne,_ she realizes again. "True. I just... I don't want another Anders, someone I have to keep apart from everyone else. Things are going well. I'm hesitant to shake them up."_ _

___If things were going well, then why are you running on dregs and prayers?_ "It's a risk, sure, but a low one I think, with solid odds on a good return."_ _

__"True. And, Aveline and I both managed to avoid dumping each other the other day, so that's a bonus." A wry smile._ _

__Varric snorts. "Lawful would sooner swallow broken glass dipped in the nastiest fluid you can find in the Undercity than give you up," he scoffts._ _

__"Yeah, well, we have our differences of opinion in some... crucial areas you don't want to know about," she says, carefully._ _

__."Do you... want to talk about it?" he asks stoutly. "You know I can... even if the woods are rather scarce on whiskey. Stupid woods."_ _

__She laughs. "Truth be told, when I knew we had to talk, I got her some ale. She didn't appreciate it as much as I would have."_ _

__"Yeah, she's not abstinent or anything, but she's real tight-laced isn't she?" Varric says, almost fondly. "I do have to admit I'd pay platnium to see her totally sloshed."_ _

__An interesting expression crosses Marian's face. "You know, that's an apt analogy. Aveline is almost -- not quite, but almost -- a teetotaler. And Zevran is a connoisseur of varied tastes: anything, so long as it's high enough quality. My tastes are wide-ranging yet eclectic, while Merrill only drinks certain vintages of elven wines. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard Aveline saying that it was... immoral for her to partake of more than one type of liquor. It makes me wonder if she thinks less of me for drinking ale, beer, wine, and whiskey, and sometimes mixing my drinks. I was worried she was... losing her taste for my vintage."_ _

__Varric blinks a few times as she explains things, nodding slowly at the end. "I can see why you might think that. Wynne doesn't drink either, not for years, and it can feel a little awkward to have a shot or a mug of ale in front of her. Even though she's never said a word, or even given a look askance." He hums thoughtfully. "She explain why? Lawful."_ _

__She shrugs. "It's just how she is. It's... an acquired taste for her," she reasons, slowly. "She has to... sniff a particular vintage a lot before she's willing to taste it." _Okay, it's not a perfect analogy._ "So she's only liked two vintages, and one of them is discontinued."_ _

__'Discontinued' gets a slightly amused glance, but Varric goes with it. "I meant more about why she thinks she has to stick with... only one brewery."_ _

__She shrugs. "Most people are loyal to given brands," she points out. "I'm kind of the odd one out as far as Nyra."_ _

__Varric nods, acknowledging the point. "I suppose... but give that her... drinking buddy is pretty clear about enjoying a wide array, it seems strange she'd think sampling some... elven wine I'm guessing, would be a problem."_ _

__"Yes," she says, quietly. "I found it strange, as well." She sighs. "She said the word 'cheating'. It... cut me. But we mended things, is my point."_ _

__Varric considers it a moment, then offers, "well.. in way, it could have been. I mean, you've both talked about and agree that you can sample as you like but... Well, as far I know, you never had that conversation for her. So... until she checked that it was okay, it might have been, in a sense." He shakes his head. "But like you said, you worked it out so... good. Elven wine for every- well, all of you."_ _

__She nods. "It's not... I worry, sometimes, what will happen when I fall for someone who is less... understanding. But, tomorrow's problems tomorrow."_ _

__"Well... I'll give you a tumbler of whiskey and let you cry a bit. Shadow will make you feel like a princess. Moonbeam will hug and fuss over you. Lady Lawful will be strangely comforting in her fumbling sort of way. Wynne will make tea and Flirty will drag you off to a night on the town. Mama Bear and Poet will invade with the twins, cookies and some form of stew. Then when we're all done, you'll realize you're better off without anyone that wants you to be less than who you are." Varric steps back and looks around. "So about that firewood. Oh, and we'd probably stuff horseshit in their underthings drawer for making you cry if they were the hurtful sort of not understanding. Or live rats, depending."_ _

__She smiles fondly at Varric. "You're right. I haven't been letting the lot of you look after me the way I look after all of you. And that is something I do need to change."_ _

__Varric offers a proud smile. "Good to hear. So... yeah. I'll get with Moonbeam and we'll arrange things for the dinner stuff. Mind if we do it at your place? I'm not sure my kitchen is... up for that sort of thing," he adds thoughtfully._ _

___Meaning there's no food in it._ "Sounds great. Thanks, Papa."_ _

__No stove either, technically... the old one may be just a shell at the moment after he left a roast in there... for two days because he got distracted by something or other. "Well, fire's not fueling itself, now is it?" he says with a nod. "Seriously though, dirt on wood? Poison or seasoning?"_ _

__"You ask like I know," she points out. "It's probably fine, I guess? Dirt's dirt, right?"_ _

__Varric considers it a moment, then shrugs. "Eh, not like we don't have three healers on hand," he decides, grabbing the stick. He's really not interested in being on this search for much longer after all and it's a nice sized stick so... score._ _

__\---_ _

__The rest of the trip back is just as uneventful as the previous section, though Hawke does note that the rest of her Clan seem a touch relieved the evening after her talk with Varric. Sneaky little blighters. And Merrill has a new topic to ramble on about- evidently, the idea of getting to host regular Clan dinners is seriously delightful for the elf lass. At one point, she mentions 'it'll be just like I have a real family, with relatives and everything' which is both heartwarming and a heartbreaking both. Regardless, the group arrive in Nyra and, thanks to have a Captain along with them, make it through customs with ease._ _

__The group splits up at this point: Aveline and Beka head for her place, Zevran to the Voice to check in (he's been rather adorably fretful over how they've been doing), Varric and Marethari for Meadows (Varric arranged with Wynne for her to stay there for a few days via magic) and the two newlyweds for their own home. Which, they discover, has been freshly cleaned and the cold box filled with ready-made meals. On the table is a covered tray of cookies, along with a note from Tomas and Gilly giving their love to their aunties. It's also undersigned by Seli, Andy and Wynne, which means the cookies are probably safe to eat._ _

__The pair enjoy a nice night in, then a lazy morning together. It's just before lunch when there's a knock on the door. The knock- and that the door opens right after- lets them know without bothering to rise from their cuddle that it's Zevran. He's a good mood, as Rosalie has done _masterfully_ in his absence. He's actually thinking about maybe making her the full-time manager officially so he can focus on his sex-ed work. Shortly after lunch, there's... another knock on the door? And this one they don't recognize right away._ _

__Helene has dressed up today, to the best of their ability to do so, using some of the tips Madame Zevvy has been giving them in their regular talks. This means today that they wear a knee-length skirt in pinstripes, as well as a suit jacket that hangs down a bit too low on their frame, and a vest underneath that matches the stripes. They have even put on a small, masculine hat, which combines with the spectacles to give them a very serious, fashionable look. The usual lace peeks out from under the suit jacket, and they wear shoes with a buckle, girlish and cute._ _

__They bob into an immediate curtsey when Hawke answers the door. "Good afternoon, Lady zi'Hawke," they manage, without a stammer -- result of long practice this morning, not that they'd ever tell. "May this one enter?"_ _

__"Helene? Sure, of course," says Hawke with a smile, stepping aside. "How're things?"_ _

__"Helene?" Zevran says from the living room. A moment later, he emerges with a bright smile. "Good to see you again, mon ami,. You are well?"_ _

__"Things are... progressing along their charted courses," says Helene, shifting their weight from one foot to the other. They brighten when they see Zevran, moving to him rapidly. "Madame Zevvy! It is good to see that you have returned safely from your voyage." Their language may be no less formal, but the warm smile helps considerably._ _

__"And lovely to be back," he replies, moving forward to offer a hug._ _

__Helene hugs him willingly. Apart from the warmth of their body, he can feel something firm in their suit pocket: something with corners and firm edges. Wait, is that a jewelry box?_ _

___Huh. Wonder what they're up to?_ Giving a quick kiss, Zevran stands. "What brings you around? Not business, I hope? Oh, can I get you anything to drink?"_ _

__"No, not business." They step back, turning back toward Hawke, looking much more at ease. "I do not require refreshment, as I cannot stay long, but I had wanted to welcome the Champion of Coalside back. And there is... a small matter to be resolved, as well."_ _

__"Thank you," says Hawke warmly. "What's this about?"_ _

__Zevran steps back a little to lean against a nearby wall with a curious look on his face, as Helene bobs into a small curtsey. The Seeker removes the box Zevran had felt from their suit pocket. It is clearly a ring box; Helene fumbles with it slightly, clearly more nervous after removing it._ _

__Hawke's eyebrows shoot for her hairline. "Just as a note, in case you were wondering, Merrill and I were together many years before we decided to wed."_ _

__Helene looks up, startled. "...noted?"_ _

__"Your current actions are fulfilling many of the typical dressing of a marriage proposal," Zevran explains with amusement, long accustomed to Helene's adorably focused mindset. If it's not what they're considering at the time, they often overlook the obvious._ _

__Fun fact: when samsarans blush, their cheeks turn a slightly deeper shade of blue. "Ah! No, no, this one is not -- this one does not feel romantic inclinations towards Light zi'Hawke. Not that such feelings would be unwelcome should they occur, or that Light zi'Hawke would be an unsuitable romantic partner, or marriage partner, but that the necessary preconditions simply have not been met, and this one does--"_ _

__"Peace!" laughs Hawke. "I'm teasing."_ _

__"See what I meant about arranging for them and Merrill to find themselves in some zany situation right out of one of those light hearted silly romance plays? The sheer adorable awkwardness would likely birth a new minor deity. Divine Awkwaorable, the Sweet Goof," Zevran proclaims. "Praise them! Love them! Desire to give them all of the hugs!"_ _

__"That is-- I-- I am dedicated to Alydra!" Helene blushes worse, fumbling for some objection. Still, they don't seem concerned or hurt; oddly enough, they seem pleased, a small smile forming on top of the blush._ _

__"Divine Awkwaorable ships that too," Zevran says sagely._ _

__"Definitely," agrees Hawke. "The most huggable god of all."_ _

__Not wanting to go over the line, Zevran eases back. "Well, if it's not a proposal, then..." he asks leadingly._ _

__"Ah," says Helene, still blushing. "Ah, this one..." The smile fades as they straighten a bit, drawing themself up to their full, short stature. "This one wanted to formally thank the Champ-- Sage zi'Hawke for your assistance with the issue of Sherran. While this one has thanked Ma-- Zevran formally," by means of purchasing a package of candied plums as a thank-you gift, "this one struggled for a time to find an appropriate token of this one's gratitude. As this one has been sorting through Sherran's things, this one found... an item that this one cannot use, and for which Sage zi'Hawke may find more use. Ah, especially, um, with regards to, your recent, ah... the ceremony of which we were just speaking."_ _

__Zevran tilts his head to the side, curious about what Helene is talking about. Jewelry of some kind, presumably, but... well, a wedding ring makes the most sense to connect to the 'ceremony just mentioned' but... Well, Hawke is already wearing a ring- a rather noticeable one, for all its simplicity. A slim band of celestial mithril, set with tiny chips of some deep blue and green gems in an alternating pattern. No single focal gem as the human style would dictate. No, her wedding ring is pretty solidly dwarven in acetic. Makes sense, as he'd overheard Hawke mention that Varric helped Merrill pick it out._ _

___Now I'm nervous again. What's she on about?_ Hawke waits patiently for Helene to fumble through words, motioning for her to continue._ _

__Instead of speaking, the samsaran opens the box, turning to show Hawke the ring: a simple black band, inscribed in gold with runes along the interior and Elven script along the exterior. The elven reads something to the effect of, To see the world from another's point of view is a treasure beyond imagining._ _

__"A magic ring?" asks Hawke, studying it._ _

__Helene nods. "This one would get no use from it. It is designed to.. alter one's body in a way this one does not find palatable."_ _

__Hawke glances to Zevran for a quick translation. Zevran has to think a moment, then his eyes widen. He whistles softly. "It's removable? Without magical aid?" he asks with a bit of wonder- and double that in interest._ _

__"Yes," says Helene, in that clipped tone often employed when gender topics are discussed._ _

__Zevran nods, schooling the interest from his face. "Thank you, Bright Helene. Your gift is welcome and gratefully received, though not as much as the warmth behind the giving," he says formally, stepping forward to bow slightly. He glances at Hawke to imply he'll explain later but it's a good thing._ _

__Hawke follows suit. "Indeed. There was no need to thank me in such a formal manner, but since you have chosen to, I will receive your gift gratefully. But please, there's no need to be in such awe. I'm only an ordinary person, under the fancy robes."_ _

__Helene stares at her, shocked. "B-but, you are a hero," they say quietly. "A _good_ one." Still, they hand over the ring, closing the box as they do._ _

__Zevran chuckles softly. "True, she very much is those things. But she treasures friendship far more than accolades, mon ami adorable."_ _

__"Friendship? With me?" Helene is startled, glancing back to Hawke._ _

__"Of course," says Hawke casually._ _

__"I-- I am honored." Helene blinks, swallowing. "I-- this one will try to live up to the immense honor Hero zi'Hawke has bestowed. I-- I do have to go, though," they continue, glancing back to Zevran as they back toward the door._ _

__Hawke laughs. "Alright, then. But do come by for dinner sometime? I want to know what you make of the legal system in Goldengreen."_ _

__"I'll walk you to the street," Zevran says warmly, not sure if that's what the glance was about but not minding more time with his smallest friend. Truth be told, he thinks of them more as just short, rather than young. Like a kender with a somewhat gawky build._ _

__"Please," they say gratefully. They exchange a quick farewell with the hero, heading to the door with Zevran._ _

__Zevran would normally slip an arm around or hold hands with someone, but given the size difference, he instead rests his hand on her shoulder. "Sorry about missing our meet-up with so little warning," he offers to start as they very slowly drift towards the street._ _

__"It is no trouble," they say, instantly. "Query: how does one be friends with a hero?" they add, more insistently, once they're out the door and out of earshot. "This one has made a fool of this one's self. There was nothing-- This one seeks guidance in this matter."_ _

___Okay, seriously, adorable,_ the half-drow thinks with a smile. "Just treat her like you do me. But perhaps less questions, she gets that sort of thing a lot at work," Zevran advises her. "If it helps, think of Champion Hawke as a role she puts on when she has to. Be friends with just Hawke, Merrill's wife and my beloved."_ _

__"But Hero zi'Hawke is--" here Helene pauses to lower their voice to a whisper. " _chosen_ by the _gods_!"_ _

__"Indeed she is, Oracle of Alydra Helene," Zevran replies soberly. "She still makes mistakes, acts silly and... actually... hmmm. Tell me, have you ever gone out to a tavern for drinks?"_ _

__"Not for recreation," admits Helene._ _

__Zevran nods. "Sometime in the next week or so, the three of us will go out to the Gilder. Once you've heard her try to sing, pass out and start snoring or wake up with a roaring hangover, you'll be much more at ease I'm sure."_ _

__"This one does not wish to impugn or slight the honor of Madame Zevvy, but this one finds your description difficult to reconcile with the known facts," they protest._ _

__"You haven't seen her stumble in the bath after a long night of drink and debauchery, then start moaning because she realizes she just pissed with her breeches still on," Zevran says with a smirk. "Err, if you'd be so kind, perhaps not mention I mentioned that... to anyone. Ever."_ _

__Helene gives him a horrified look. "That didn't happen," they say flatly._ _

__"If it helps, it was before she did any of her more famous deeds," he offers._ _

__"The gods would never pick someone that... disorganized to carry out their will in the material plane," Helene protests._ _

__"She was hungover," Zevran explains. "You do stupid things when you're hungover. Besides, her virtues outweigh the flaws."_ _

__"They must," says Helene doubtfully. A moment later, they blush again. "I mean-- of course they do. zi'Hawke is wonderful."_ _

__"Find a balance," he says with a laugh. "I mean, she totally is wonderful, but at least drop the 'zi' unless she's at the Lantern or the like."_ _

__"Is that not improper?" asks Helene._ _

__"Not for her, no. She prefers it in fact, so I would say it's more improper not to," he assures her._ _

__"So, then, I should call her... Sage Hawke?"_ _

__"Are... three rules for her naming okay?" Zevran asks after a moment. "For what to call her when, I mean."_ _

__Helene nods. "Acceptable."_ _

__"Alright. If she's at the Lantern or wearing her Light stole thingie, call her Lady Sage zi'Hawke. If we're at a ball or other formal event but she's not wearing her stole, just Lady Hawke. Any other time, just call her Hawke." Zevran smiles down at them. "Workable?"_ _

__Helene studies him with the intent look they tend to have when given information that is particularly useful for later. "Accepted. Thank you, Madam Zevvy." Helene frowns, then, their mind clearly at work. "Does that title suffice?" They ask, after a moment. "We are... perhaps becoming friends as well?"_ _

__Zevran blinks, then winces. "Yes. Yes, in fact, I would say we've been friends for a few months now. I'm sorry, I should have pointed it out. I don't mind if you call me Madame Zevvy, but you can call me Zevran as well." A beat later, he realizes he should add, "I have no preference really, and the only... rule I can think of is that Madame Zevy, associated as it is with Voice, might not be appropriate for formal occasions. Because of the whole 'people can be uptight about sex' thing we've talked about."_ _

__Helene nods. "This one must admit, I prefer to use people's titles. It helps classify them. When you gave me to understand that you did not feel the title was shameful, I have preferred it since. But, I will accept that it is sexual in nature, and that... I suppose, titles are less common among friends?"_ _

__"The absence of a title has meaning in and of itself. When said between friends, it's a demonstration of how close they are. When used between strangers, it's a dismissal of their status," Zevran explains. "So if someone asks you to drop the title, they are saying that they consider their status as whatever to be of less import than their status as your friend, at least in reference to your relationship."_ _

__"Their status as... my friend? Ma--- Zevran, how can your status as this one's friend be more important than your status as one of the most successful entrepreneurs in all of Coalside, proprietor of the most rapidly growing brothel in Nyra, and lover and friend to the most impressive hero Nyra has seen in centuries?"_ _

__Zevran coughs a little. "My word. I think... I am. I'm blushing," he says with amazement. "I haven't blushed in ages."_ _

__"You are," confirms Helene. "And yet none of what I said is untrue."_ _

__"Yes, well. As I said, 'in reference to your relationship.' What I mean is that... the things I've done or the connections I have with others is not... as relevant to our relationship as the relationship itself," he tries to explain. "When I think of you, I do not think 'I, the one who has done all those things you said, am talking to Helene, oracle and so forth.' I'm thinking 'I'm talking with my friend.'"_ _

__Helene nods slowly. "This one... has not encountered this way of thinking before," they say, testing the words out. "This one does not think of Hawke with anything less than awe and reverence, but... I sometimes... do forget temporarily how accomplished you are, due to an interest in your more immediate words and deeds."_ _

__"It's much like that," he agrees. "Focusing on the person, not the deeds."_ _

__Helene nods. "Then... This one believes you are correct, that we have been... something like friends, for some time." They smile, as though satisfied with having discovered a secret._ _

__Zevran smiles broadly at them, kneeling smoothly to pull Helene in for a hug._ _

__Helene hugs him -- something they never used to be willing to do before Sharran died, but something that they haven't stopped being okay with after. They pull away sooner than most people do, as usual, but the level of trust has definitely increased. "I really do need to get going," they apologize afterward._ _

__"Of course," he says, straightening. "Send a note about when you're free in the next few weeks for that tavern outing. And dinner. Best of luck on your learning everything."_ _

__Helene smiles broadly at him. "Thank you."_ _

__\---_ _

__As Zevran returns, Hawke smiles, looking up from the ring she was examining. "So, what's the story?"_ _

__"Summary: I helped them come up with rules for when it's okay to call you Hawke. I set up a tentative tavern outing, possibly with poker and certainly with lots of drinking with them. We're officially upgraded our status as friends, posted dated a few months." Zevran pauses to inhale, then adds, "and put it on. Wait, no. Merrill!"_ _

__A few seconds after his yell, Merrill pops her head into the room with a confused expression._ _

__"Alright, now put it on," he urges Hawke._ _

__Hawke raises an eyebrow. She doesn't question him; she trusts his judgement. What she does, however, is give him the most skeptical look of all time. She's sure this is going to be hilarious... for him._ _

__Well, okay, probably for her too._ _

__She slides the ring onto her finger, and he frowns, looking down at himself. "I don't look any differ-- What's wrong with my voice?" He does, in fact, look different -- a stronger jaw, to those trained to see elven gender differences; a few inches in height; broader hands, narrower hips. But his hair was already short, his chest already fairly flat._ _

__Merrill clues in faster than Hawke does, darting over with an excited squeal. And promptly cups his package to see if she's right. "Yes!"_ _

__Zevran, meanwhile, is leaning heavily against a wall to stay upright as too much of his focus is being taken up by his struggles to breath past his wild laughter. Yup, exactly what he'd predicted._ _

__"Merrill!" He gasps, and then-- _Ah. Well. Hello to you too, my pet dragon._ "Oh wow, this is... I did not expect something this expensive!"_ _

__Zevran chuckles a little. "I suspect Helene did not consider the cost when they decided to give it to you," he observes. "They look up to you a great deal, and... well, the ring is not something they would want to keep."_ _

__Merrill lets go of the dragon- for now- to circle around Hawke for a look over. "Ooooh, your hips are mostly gone but your butt is still nice and tight. Wait." Squeeze. "Yep. Actually, maybe even a little firmer..."_ _

__"What? I work hard for that ass!" he grumbles. "Still, this is--" _We could use this to get pregnant. That's what Helene meant by, due to our wedding._ "Oh." He pulls away from Merrill, moving to sit down in a hurry._ _

__"Uh-huh," Merrill says, trailing after. "Can we have sex now? I want to feel both of yo-"_ _

__"Hawke, what's wrong?" Zevran cuts in as he sees her expression. Merrill breaks off, refocusing at his words._ _

__"No, I-- Nothing's wrong, exactly," he offers, running a hand through his hair. "I just, I realized... we could get pregnant. Maybe should get pregnant, we're married now and..."_ _

__Merrill lets out a startled 'eep' and stares. Zevran coughs slightly, then says soothingly, "there's no need to rush Hawke. You're merikos and- and Merrill is an elf. You both have plenty of time for that sort of thing. Focus on enjoying being married. And your career."_ _

__"Right," he says, slowly. "Yeah, right. I should probably just limit it to, ah, fun. For now. That's... that's fine, right? I mean, you always hear about people delaying children because of their careers, and I'm still a new Light, it might be best if I don't get pregnant, so, unless Zevran feels like-- in any event, we should just, not, worry about it now, right?" Is he having a panic attack? No, at least, not a full blown one, but he doesn't sound any less tense the more he speaks._ _

__Merrill silently moves to embrace Hawke around the middle. Looking up at her, she says firmly in elven, "my wonderful, amazing, brilliant star.... breath. Count to five. Then breath again."_ _

__Hawke does as he is told for a few moments before he manages to get ahold of his circling mind once more. "Thank you," he says sincerely, and flashes Merrill a smile. Marian's never smiled like this before -- or, no, she has, really. But that chin was more delicate, that jawline more feminine. In a masculine face, that smile is _something_ : too genuine for that handsome face, too rugged to be entirely platonic._ _

__"oooooo"_ _

__Zevran snickers, having used the delay to center himself as well. "I think Merrill likes," he comments with a laugh._ _

__"Likes what? Men? I noticed," he laughs. _More than-- no, stop it. You know that's no good.__ _

__"So... sex now? And then Zevran can wear it? And then me? And then maybe we can go to the Voice tomorrow? Well, maybe the day after," Merrill asks excitedly._ _

__"Likes new toys," Zevran corrects Hawke. Which is very true, in and out of bed, Merrill is easily enthralled by a new device or toy. Rather easily distracted this one._ _

__"Yes, alright, I've got the afternoon free, let's play."_ _


	17. "Enchantment?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke picks up a new ally, and a new job title.

Over the next few months, Helene never quite becomes a part of Hawke's inner circle, but they become as much a part of the group as Andy: someone on the edges, but someone who is welcomed and cared for, if not in a sexual way. Hawke begins seeing Father Lelldorin, a priest of... well, just about everybody, though he claims Alydra as his patron. The man offers counseling services, both grief-oriented and battle fatigue related. He agrees to see Varric; Varric approves of the man, and Hawke makes an appointment the next day.

It's hard. It's really hard. In the interests of radical honesty, she starts coming clean with the family more about how often she's sleeping... and it's not often, not when you stop counting Aveline's little pick-me-up and Varric's tonics and one particularly handsome clerk at her clinics who's been slipping her draughts and Wynne's favorite pick-me-up tea and...

As Varric put it, she's definitely his daughter. To which she replied, she's definitely not only coming clean about it because they're talking behind her back anyway, no sirree.

But it gets better, slowly. Aveline starts judiciously keeping track of how often she's 'helping' and making sure she spends her days well when she's using it. Merrill walks her downtown, gets to know the clerk, and makes him promise not to sip Hawke any more tonics without sending the bill straight to her wife so it can be accounted for -- and no more freebies. Wynne doesn't say anything; she doesn't have to, not with the look she gives Hawke. And Hawke knows better than to try and put one over on her old man.

It gets better. With more sleep, the anxiety and agitation start to fade. She frosts over less often, has to stop and collect herself less. She starts talking about the things troubling her at night to her therapist, and he teaches her techniques for resetting, for pulling her mind away from the spiral of problems until she can focus again.

Four years to the day after Memento Mori, and the Clan agrees: she is not spending it alone. Instead, she spends it at Voice, doing her best to forget in the arms of Zevran, Nox, Lux, and Merrill. And boy howdy does she forget. She forgets so hard, she decides to spend the next day lounging around the place, indulging herself and taking it easy for once.

Which is where she is the afternoon after, letting Merii paint her nails while Zevran trims her hair. She's got her eyes closed, ignoring most of the people coming and going as she lounges in a side parlor (great for lap dances and birthdays) -- but she doesn't ignore the boyish snickering she can hear drifting from the front hall.

"Nah, you'll love it, Sandal, it'll be great. You'll see," one boy is saying, while (from the sound of it) at least two more are having the time of their lives.

"Enchantment?" a voice asks. It's split between excitement and bewilderment. Dwarven, and deep enough to indicate it belows to a male. A touch young for Voice, however.

"No, no, this is... entertainment! Can you manage that one Sandal old chum?" a third boy asks. Sounds rather posh, with a very strongly cultivated gnomish accent. A bit over cultivated, it comes off as artificial to be honest. "Oh man, this is going to be great," he continues, voice a bit lower. "I've heard about this place, it's supposed to be the best whorehouse in Nyra."

_That it is!_ Marian grins, remembering the night prior. Still, she's a bit concerned about this... Sandal? Is that a real name? Zevran is frowning a bit- they sound a little young to be here but... He doesn't rise yet, but he's certainly paying attention. She shifts a little, still listening as the first boy speaks again. "I heard they do group rates. D'ya think they'd let us watch?"

"Ugh, why would even want to?" A third voice says with disgust. "I mean, it might be amusing to see him fumble about, but you'd still have to see the dullard naked."

Merii frowns slightly, glancing up at Zevran to see what he's thinking.

"I think I might need to drift over there," he murmurs.

"Agreed. Shall I come with?" Hawke asks.

"Two copper says he can't even get his pants off without help," adds the head boy.

"Enchantment?" the too young sounding voice, presumably Sandal, replies again.

"I should be fine, but if you like, we can just... drift that way, arm in arm, hands down my pants or something and see what's going on without arou- gaining their attention," Zevran agrees.

"No, don't undress now Sandal!"

"Gross!"

Marian jumps to her feet, linking arms with Zevran. "Do let's get a drink."

"Not... enchantment?" Sandal asks, tone tipping deeper towards the bewildered side of things.

As they head towards the voices, they can see four young men. One is a merikos dwarf, hands on his belt. Two of the others are human, the third a merikos elf. None of them look like they're much older than they have to be in order to come in.

"Does... does this Sandal look.. enspelled to you?" Zevran murmurs, deferring to Hawke's expertise. She shakes her head, a single sharp shake. _Touched in the head then perhaps? Even worse, in a way. Taking advantage of someone with such a condition..._ Zevran's eyes harden a bit before he plasters on a pleasant expression. Approaching the quartet, he says airly, "enjoying your time so far lads?"

"Huh? Yeah, whatever," says the leader, giving him a glance before turning back to his friends.

"And how about you?" Zevran presses, addressing Sandal directly.

The merikos look up at Zevran with wide eyes. "...enchantment?" he offers softly, getting a raised eyebrow from Zevran, directed at the 'leader' of the four.

"He's slow," says the leader, glancing sideways at Sandal. "He's having a good time, though."

"Is that so?" Zevran says quietly. "I think that perhaps I should... make sure of that." He turns to face Sandal, offering a smile. "Your name is Sandal, right?"

"Enchantment."

"I see. And these are your friends?"

"Enchantment..."

Zevran's smile is getting a bit forced. "And... are you having... do you have any idea what you're here for?"

"...not.... enchantment?"

"Right," says Hawke, scowling. "You, get out of here before I tell the owner you're underaged," she says, pointing at the leader. As he starts to back toward the door, she points to the gnomish-accented one. "You, stay."

Sandal, looking confused and somewhat upset, looks around worried as if trying to figure out what he's expected to do.

Gnomish-accent lad nods, face a trifle pale. "We... we didn't mean any harm," he mumbles.

"Of course you didn't," Zervan says sweetly, eyes venomous. "Would you like to see to Sandal in my office?" he adds softly to Hawke. This is his place, he should deal with the other three.

"Fine," she agrees mildly. "Where did you get him? I assume he has family in town?" _Please tell me they didn't kidnap him or... enslave him or something._

Zevran frowns slightly, a trifle annoyed. He normally defers to her, but he's used to being in charge at the Voice. Still, better to simply go with it for now and bring it up later. "Would you like something to drink, Sandal? We have some fresh apple cider- I've a new supplier that offers a very nice spiced cider for when you just want something wet and tasty instead of getting buzzed."

"Enchantment?" Sandal asks, perking up. Well, he can understand what's said at least. Good to know. "Like," he adds. Progress!

"We didn't _get_ him," the other lad protests. "I mean, he's a friend. We met in class... I think he lives with his dad?"

Hawke turns to Sandal, then. "Do you know how to get home?" she asks, frowning.

"Dad," Sandal says firmly, nodding as he glances at the bar where Zevran is fetching them a tray of drinks.

"Great. Why don't you go and have a drink, then, while I talk to your friends?"

"Like," Sandal agrees after a moment of thought before going over to Zevran.

"Look, we didn't do anything wrong," Gnomish begins.

"Save it," she says, turning to glare at him with no warmth in her eyes -- or her voice. "Now you listen here. I want you to leave that boy alone. Do I make myself clear? He's not your pet or your plaything."

"Oye, who are you to go mouthing off like that?" the hereto silent lad says aggressively. "You're either a whore or-"

She narrows her eyes, her expression going hard. She doesn't say a word, nor lift a finger, but somehow, he gets the feeling 'assassin' is closer than 'whore'.

"Sweet mother Astea, Cloven, _shut up_ ," Gnomish hisses, eyes widening suddenly. "That's the Champion!"

Cloven takes a half step back, then grabs his courage, finds it insufficient and lays on his stupidity. That's plenty enough for him to open his mouth again. "Bullshit. No way the champion is some scrawny elf-blood bi-"

_If he's old enough to cuss me out, he's old enough to get laid out on his ass._ She reaches out with one hand and shoves, letting ice bloom across his chest. And the key word here is 'letting'. She doesn't feel the spell rip its way out of her unbidden; she chooses to attack him, letting loose with the cold blast inside her like a muscle held in place long enough to almost cramp. It feels good, but she feels in control, powerful.

The idiot boy falls on his ass with a unmanly yelp, his shirt frozen solid but his skin merely chilled and smarting. Truth be told, his arse hurts more from the fall.

Gnomish reacts well, all things considered. His eyes roll back and his faints dead away. Well, that's... amusing as hell.

From the bar, she can hear a confused, 'enchantment?'

"Chastisement,' Zevran corrects him with clear amusement. "How do you like the cider?"

"Like!"

Hawke sighs, watching Gnomish fall. "You'll get your friend home, I trust?" she says, her tone still sharp, but with a bit of weariness creeping in, as if she can't believe she has to deal with such idiots.

Cloven once again proves his moral fiber by scrambling to his feet and trying to run out of the room without so much as a glance at Gnomish. Before he can get too far, a very lithe leg stretches out and sends him sprawling.

"Making friends Hawke?" Lux asks coyly. "Seems a bit rude but to each their own."

Cloven lets out a low moan and curls up slight on the ground.

"You want me to take over, Lady Madame?" the floor bouncer asks Hawke politely. He'd been nearby since the pair had approached the group but had let them take lead. Also, wait, Lady what?

"Hah! Don't call me that, you'll give this idiot the impression he was right," she jokes, clearly relieved. "Yeah, go ahead, throw them out. I'm going to check on their friend. I've spent more time than they're worth on them already."

"Right you are, Lady, uh, Miss?" the bouncer says hesitantly before moving smartly off to haul the two losers out.

Lux murmurs a farewell to the patron he'd been chatting with to swish his hips. Err, walk over to Hawke. "I missed the opening act to your number," he murmurs. "You got everything in hand?"

Hawke nods, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. They brought in a friend who is... challenged," she says, tapping her temple to get across how. "Thought it'd be funny. I'm going to make sure he gets home okay, but it's over."

Lux makes a sad noise in his throat. "Shitheads," he mutters. Most of the other curses are avoided as a rule at Voice- anything that disparages sex or gender really. There's no rule or anything, it just sort of happened organically. The tiefling leans in to buss her cheek with a kiss. "Lucky to have you, luvie," he whispers with a wink before sauntering away.

As Hawke makes her way to Zevran and Sandal, she's blushing faintly, a satisfied smile on her face. "Pleased to meet you," she says to Sandal. "I'm Hawke."

"Enchant..." Sandal says slowly, as if focusing. A beat too late for normal he thrusts his hand at her a touch forcefully.

Hawke smiles, shaking the boy's hand. "Nice to meet you," she says again. "Listen... I don't think you should hang out with those boys anymore, alright?"

Sandal rather enthusiastically takes her hand and shakes it, all of his focus on making sure he does a good job of it. Once he's done- after a good half dozen firm pumps- he looks back up at her. "Like," he declares, giving her a warm, guileless smile.

"Ah, thank you?" she says, blinking, her smile not faltering. "But, do you understand what I said? Those boys, they're not good for you. Okay?"

Sandal stares a moment, his expression clouding with confusion. "Enchantment?"

"I'm not sure how much he understands," Zevran says with some frustration in elven. "He only seems to be able to speak a handful of words so..."

"Enchantement," Sandal says sadly. In elven. Which gets a slightly ashamed look from Zevran.

Hawke laughs out loud. "The kid's alright," she says, wiping a happy tear from the corner of her eye. "But maybe we'd better meet his parents, tell them what happened."

Sandal's expression goes morose. "Enchantment," he repeats, head shaking a little.

"No? Didn't one of those idiots mention your dad?" Zevran asks gently.

"Dad!" Sandal agrees, mood snapping back to upbeat. Wait, did he say that specific word with a dwarven accent? Most of what he's been saying is in a bland, mixed accent, but that word was almost pure dwarf.

Hawke nods. "I have a [Papa] too," she says, brightly. "He's the best."

"Papa!" Sandal says excitedly in flawless dwarven. He cranes his head around Hawke, trying to see if said person is here. When he doesn't see him, he sags a little, looking woeful.

"Ah.... do you want more cider, Sandal?" Zevran offers quickly. The merikos dwarf perks up, nodding eagerly, so Zevran goes about getting them all refills (or first glass, in Hawke's case).

Over the next few minutes, Hawke tries to talk with -- evidently, his name is Sandal? -- she really does. But it's hard, when he says so little in response to her polite questions. So, when the next mug of cider is done, she asks, "Well, how about we get you home, eh kid?"

"Papa?" Sandal asks brightly, then looks down at his third mug of cider and the loaf of sweet bread in the other hand mournfully.

"When you're ready," she reassures him. "But yes, Papa."

Sandal sips his cider slowly, staring at her as if worried she's going to take it from him.

"Would you like to take that with you? On your way back? Hawke can bring the mug back when you're done," Zevran offers gently.

"Oh yeah, I can totally do that," she encourages him.

"Enchantment," Sandal agrees after a moment, getting to his feet. He pauses then, frowning in thought as he stares at his hands. After a moment, he offers Hawke the sweet bread.

"Oh, thank you very much," she says, taking the bread. "Alright, lead the way."

Once she's taken the bread, Sandal takes her free hand in his now empty one. "Papa," he reminds her a split second before tugging her along after him towards the exit.

"I'll let Aveline know you might be a bit late," Zevran calls after them with laughter in his voice.

"Thanks," she calls over her shoulder, holding Sandal's hand as he leads her.

\---

It takes them some time to make their way through Coalside to Meadow, where Sandal's papa lives. It's a huge step up from where Hawke used to live in Coalside, but it's not as good as her place in Lily and Oak: a quaint little rancher, with a mostly dead yard out front, the back nothing much to speak of, facing an alleyway.

"Papa," Sandal says excitedly as he stuffs swallows the last of the sweetbread. He'd finished his cider halfway there, stopped, let go of Hawke's hand, carefully traded the mug for the sweetbread, taken her hand again, then resumed dragging her along. Still holding her hand, he hurries up to the door and knocks rapidly, in a quick 2-3-2 pattern. He then waits a few seconds, then lifts his hand to do it again.

As he's about to knock, the door is pulled open by a dwarf: a brunet, with an elaborately braided goatee and a pair of tails in his beard, as was proper for a traditional underground dwarf of his age. His face shows the marks of time and care wearing it down, but he's nowhere near old age, not yet. Relief shows clearly on his face as he gestures for Sandal to enter. "Sandal, my boy! Where have you got to? You know you're to come straight home after study group."

It's then that he notices Hawke. He gives a formal bow. "Ah, greetings. I'm Bodhan Feddec, pleased to make your acquaintance."

Hawke's polite smile becomes warmer as she hears his name. "Feddic? I recognize you -- you were one of the backers of an expedition I went on some years back. Bartrand Tethras was the lead--"

"Ah, yes, I recall that one. Then you must be-- oh, I beg your pardon, Champion!" He bows again, this time much lower.

Sandal points at the mug in Hawke's hand. "Enchantment!" He beams at them both, then adds, "Papa!"

"I hate to impose, but may I come in a moment? I need to talk to you about your son's friends..."

And so, over a mug of good Dwarven ale, the adopted daughter of a dwarf and the adoptive dwarf father get to know each other. Hawke expresses her concern; Bodhan seems quite taken aback at how his son's classmates were treating him, and thanks her profusely for rescuing the boy and bringing him home. "He's really a good lad," Bodhan assures her. "Hard worker, and a genius with enchantment."

"Enchantment!" Sandal echoes, on cue.

"As he says," chuckles Bodhan. "I wish I could be around for him more, but a dwarf has to work, you see."

"Well, I'll put word out, if he ends up anywhere I'm connected with they'll make sure he gets home okay."

"That'd be a big help, thank you. Anything I can do for you in the future, you just say the word."

\---

Two weeks pass.

The first monthly Clan and friends dinner is held, a rousing success- they'd delayed a bit to let things settle and to wait for Isabella to be around for the first dinner. Marethari and Wynne, having formed a casual friendship in the time before the elf had found her own place, seem to take turns holding court as family elders, the other slipping into the kitchen to supervise. Merrill is ecstatic to have her own filled with family and never seems to stay still for more than a few moments at a time- unless she's been hugged of course. Zevran and Aveline make a good strong start to the idea of deepening bonds between those who aren't all that close by getting into a very intense debate over the right way to format and track a budget of all things. It's clear they have some pretty strong differing opinions on a few aspects, but the conversation doesn't turn personal or tense, so it's probably a tally in the win column. After all, Zevran is easing back on the flirting and when he does slip in a jape or a bit of flattery, her eyes may roll or she may scowl, but there's a faint smile or a gleam of humor in her eyes to accompany them.

Seli seems to be enjoying the chance to simply relax thanks to the plethora of people she can trust to watch the twins, though Hawke does notice her and Merrill deep in conversation about something a few times. Andy finds himself outside with Helene, playing fetch with Beka and Silence while the two humanoids play a game of chess. Well, it's more that Helene destroys him repeatedly, then explains to him how to improve his strategy. Varric, to his own half-horror, somehow gets kidnapped by Tomas and Gilly to provide an endless stream of stories. Watching him struggle to sanitize his normal style of tale-telling provides Isabela, recently back in town, with equally endless sadistic delight. Right up until Gilly realizes her idol, the pirate queen herself, is right there.

Hawke can see Merrill watching the twins, thinking about the ring upstairs in their nightstand and what it could mean. But the elf doesn't bring up the topic and neither does she. It's still not time for that. She's better, more settled in her skin, but there's more to go yet. They do have time after all, plenty of it, and neither are really ready for that stage of life. All in all... things go well. Not just at the dinner either, but in general. Life isn't perfect- Hawke manages to burn out two more 'minders' from the city for one and Aveline is back to being increasingly stressed at work for another- but things are... better.

Which is when Hawke and Merrill visit the Voice on a whim one Caeladay morning and find the bartender and two of the serving girls all slumped on the floor, their skin gleaming with sweat.

Hawke springs into action, unslinging her staff from her back as she kneels. She lays it carelessly beside her, checking for a pulse, checking their breathing. _Assassins? Poison, likely, I don't see blood. Zevran!_

Hawke doesn't notice any blood upon a closer inspection either. Next to her, Merrill snaps out, "don't touch them! Freeze your hands, **now**!"

Hawke has never heard Merrill sound like that before. She doesn't think; she freezes, her hands hovering a few inches above the woman's throat.

"No, _frost_ them," Merrill clarifies rapidly. "And get away from everyone. In fact, go outside and make sure no-one comes in or out! _Do not touch **anyone**. Even me._ " As she's snapping out orders, Merrill is busy checking the barkeep over. She's very obviously disregarding her own 'do not touch' order and her face is deathly pale, fear etched on her face.

"Are they alive?" asks Marian, breathlessly. She closes her eyes, letting fear pull ice from her heart and coat her hands.

"Yes- now **out** ," Merrill orders. No... begs. "Don't- don't come within twenty feet of anyone that might have been inside. Use... if you have to, attack them. You can't let anyone leave."

_I have to get Zevran._ She shakes her head -- one short, sharp shake -- as she stands. "Secure the perimeter. I'll be out soonest."

Merrill twists in place, one hand glowing. "Hawke, get out of here right now or I will f-f-force you to leave," she demands. Which is ludicrous. Even with Bob, she'd have worse than even odds taking Hawke in a fight. With her spirit companion waiting outside (Hawke has finally discovered that Bob is almost as asexual as Varric, mating only to breed and that only once every three years a single time), Merrill wouldn't be a challenge to the Hawke of five years ago, much less the one before her now.

But... Merrill just threatened to attack _her_.

This finally stops Hawke; the Champion turns, presenting a broad front toward Merrill, studying her face intently. Seeing nothing to tell her this isn't her wife, seeing only Merrill and fear in her eyes, she says quietly, "Do what you must. But I have to get Zevran out."

"No!" Merrill rises to her feet. "You- no-one can leave that's- Hawke please, go! If you stay much longer, then you might catch it too and- we can't risk plague spreading to the rest of Coalside," she pleads. "Even if- if it's him. Please. Hawke, we have to quarantine the building. Now. Send Bob for Wynne and keep people in and out." She swallows. "Please, if you trust me, trust me now."

_Quarantine... plague?!_ "I trust you with my whole heart, Merrill, my love, but I can't. Leave. Zevran. A few moments only, I'll be fine. I'll run, fast as I can, cold as I can be."

"Hawke... if he's here, he's already infected," she says simply. "You can't take him out. The longer you take to leave, the longer until I can go see him," Merrill adds, knowing very well she's being cruel but _needing_ Hawke to leave.

Now her face hardens. "No. You're not handling this. I won't have you exposed. We'll get The Doctor to take over the site, see what he recommends. You're not... a specialist."

"I've already come in contact with it," Merrill says bravely, her eyes showing the terror her voices does not. _Please don't make me do this, my Brightest Star. Please just go. Let me know that one of my hearts is safe._ "I'm either a healer or a patient. Hawke... you have five seconds to leave before I start attacking you." _Please. Hawke, please. Five._

There's a flash then, not of agreement or knowledge, but of blind terror. "No," she hisses, and the air cracks like the first blush of winter. For the first time since Merrill asked her to stop, she _understands_.

"Hawke. Please. I need help, I need Wynne and more healers. Please get me help," Merrill begs. "Three seconds," she adds in a broken whisper. _I can't let Hawke distract me with talk, let her delay any longer. She **must** get clear right away._

"If you die, I will never forgive you," she whispers, trying to put on a brave face, failing to hide the stark horror in her eyes. She turns, then, and leaves, her heart breaking with every step.

"I don't care, as long as you live," Merrill whispers back after Hawke's left. Squaring her shoulder, she heads upstairs to see if her other heart, her Glorious Moon, is... _Oh Zevran..._

Hawke knows what to do, intellectually; she'd sat in on a training course with a group of promising young lads who were willing to become, what was it, non-caster certified healers, people who could run a clinic dispensing potions and tinctures without being able to directly heal, so that one healer could support a half dozen clinics by spending one day a week in each. It was a brilliant scheme, and the training was well done. She'd made sure of it by auditing it herself, twice. So she knows what to do: lock the front door, send a runner to the nearest clinic for the dreaded Quarantine sign, turn away employees and customers that were just arriving, send runners to those employees she knew were unlikely to be working today to tell them not to come in -- she'd have to get the full list from someone on the inside, of course -- send for Wynne and The Doctor to take control of the scene from her, stay until help arrived.

She does these things. Later, she doesn't remember doing them, but she does.

Wynne arrives in ten minutes, which is seven minutes after the first healers from the local clinic attached to Voice arrive and two minutes after the Doctor and three aides had blown past her to go inside without the slightest pause. They'd quickly checked out and confirmed that Hawke didn't seem to be carrying anything, but had, politely, requested she remain nearby just in case. By the time they've done that, each of them checking three times, Hawke's old magic teacher is striding to her side with a look of deep concern etched on her face. "Hawke, report," she asks, worry carefully banked. Not entirely successfully, but carefully.

Hawke stares through Wynne's forehead, barely seeming to see her. "At least three afflicted, sudden onset, presenting with sweat, ah, probably fever, I didn't touch... Merrill's in there." The agonized whisper chokes off her report, and she looks down, eyes flooding with tears. _Not now! She needs your report._

"....I know," Wynne says, voice thick. "She's... she's a strong girl. She's learned well and... she'll be fine. She knows how to keep herself as... safe as one can. Not needing to inhale helps," Wynne adds, trying to be optimistic. "I sent Bob to get Varric. He should be here shortly. Aveline will have already gotten word through official channels of course."

"Give me a task," the Champion begs, her voice cracking. "I need to help."

Wynne pauses a moment. "Alright, I need you to start coordinating people. I'll be using Rhys to communicate once I go inside, so I'll send him to you. You'll have to keep track of who is helping inside, who is outside and hasn't even come close. You're the final check on making sure this doesn't get worse. This cannot spread-"

She breaks off as Andy comes tearing onto the grounds. Spotting the two of them, he heads right for them. "Av- Captain Vallen sent me to- it's not just Voice. There are five different outbreak sources reported so far."

Wynne goes start white and she sways slightly.

"Get Varric." Hawke's voice surprises herself with how even it is. _I sent Bob for Varric,_ she recalls. "Nevermind. Get Captain Vallen to find her ten smartest recruits, best at remembering names and lists. Have one pair stationed outside each location: someone to stop anyone going in or out, and someone to run messages back and forth to this location." _Varric can coordinate from here, or move to another spot if he needs more paper._ "Then, get as much parchment and ink as you can find, and quills. We're going to need lists. Send Captain Vallen here to coordinate, we'll need her in case someone tries to argue."

Andy nods jerkily. "I think she's on her way already, she's- Lord Balair is being..." he falters for a moment, not wanting to call the Lord that has oversight of Coalside 'obstructionist' or 'a pain in the ass' "somewhat demanding in... getting reports and dictating what he wants done."

"I can handle him. And I'll talk to the Lights after, or-- no, straight to the Hand I think. This will need an edict from him that we're not to be interfered with." _Gulp. I've only met the guy in passing once -- I hope I can bully him into it._

Wynne nods, having collected herself. _Plague..._ "I'm heading inside Voice now. I'll send Rhys to look for Varric, I doubt he'll be much further behind me. Hawke, you go straighten out the stupid fuck." She steps over and pulls Hawke in for a tight hug. "If the worst comes to pass, there are... I can't promise both, but Merrill will live through this, I swear it," she whispers in Hawke's ear.

"She went to check on Zevran," she whispers, embracing Wynne, taking comfort in her steadiness. "Thank you." Then she pulls away, turns to Andy, pausing only to ask, "Where?"

"Coal Station," Andy says, referring to the main guard building in Coalside. Ten minutes or so at a walk, three if she runs.

Hawke runs.

Arriving at the station, she's surprised to see Aveline outside, barking orders at a chaotic muddle of guards, runners and healers. Her posture is tightly wound and her face has all the animation of mundane marble, until she catches sight of Hawke running into the grounds. For just a second, her mask cracks and her eyes are filled with unbearable relief. Then her mask snaps back in place and she keeps shouting out commands.

One of the other guards- one of her minders that washed out because he simply wasn't capable of keeping up with her even more dangerous and hectic than a guard's lifestyle- quickly hurries over to her. "Lady Hawke!"

Hawke ignores him; she pushes through the muddle, sticking both fingers in her mouth and giving a sharp whistle as she does. "Captain Vallen," she barks, as at least some of the chaos turns its attention to her. "They need you at Voice. What can I take over for you here?"

"Hawke. I- You can't. I need to finish getting people spread out before-" Aveline cuts off as a voice is heard yelling from inside the building. "Fuck," she finishes bitterly.

Hurrying out of the building is a well dressed aasimar male with pale blue skin and dazzling onyx hair and eyes. He's immaculately dressed, with a rod on each hip, and surrounded by a visible bubble of protective energy. There are a pair of scribes following him, plus a heavily muscled minotaur wearing heavy armour and carrying a naked greataxe trailing a few feet behind him.

"And I want the guard to start setting up barricades on every street leading out of Coalside. Full quarantine, this must not make into the city proper!" Looking around, he spots Aveline. "Captain Vallen! I had _not_ dismissed you. I am in charge of Coalside and you _will_ follow my completely _legal_ and _lawful_ commands!"

Hawke neatly maneuvers around Aveline, sticking out her hand to the man. "Sage zi'Hawke, I'm in charge of relief efforts. How can I help you?"

"By telling your pet guard to follow the chain of command," he snaps, not taking her hand. "You are in charge of nothing, the governing of Coalside is _my_ duty and as such, _I_ am in charge of dealing with this plague. One, I might note, that seems to be originating from places _you_ are closely associated with," he adds cuttingly.

Aveline's face tights but she otherwise doesn't react. Around her, guards are slowly slipping away, trying not to draw the attention of angry nobility.

"Grand." She says, flatly. "Get out of the way, you're obstructing the relief effort. I've got a team already in place that needs men."

"Good for you," he replies just as flatly, not budging an inch. "But the guard will be unavailable, as they will be setting up a perimeter around Coalside to ensure the plague doesn't spread into the rest of the city. I'll be sure to let you know if there's something you can hit with your stick or freeze, but in the meantime, I'll thank you to get out of my way."

"What are you going to do with a perimeter, catch the disease in nets?" she snaps. "You don't know who's infected and who's not without my medics, so unless you want to starve your own people..."

"No-one gets out, and no-one goes in. Supplies will be sent in magically, using conjured servants," Lord Balair counters with a shrug. "It should only take a day or two to set up the quarantine, and then we can start to divert unneeded guards to other tasks."

He turns, clearly dismissing Hawke, towards Aveline. "Captain Vallen, you have your orders. _Follow them._ "

Aveline pales even more, her face carved from stone. She gives a jerky nod, her eyes unable to met Hawke's. "Yes... sir," she says, voice tight but even.

"Fine. Play your petty games. Mileen will hold every new infection from this point on over your head," she snarls. "I'm going to go save this gods-forsaken city." With that, Hawke turns to leave. _I have to send another runner, tell Varric to use every man he's got to try and hold down the quarantines, and then it's on to see the Hand. I'll have to get uptown before Aveline's men can stop me._

\---

She's lucky- not fifty feet from Coal Station, she spots an assistant from one of Zevran's outreach places. Message delivered, she heads off for uptown. Getting past the guard is surprisingly easy. As she reaches the edge of Coalside, she sees three guards all spot her, then deliberately turn to focus on setting up a simple wooden blockade. She's not sure if Aveline slipped a loophole in her orders or if her reputation is enough that the guard are willing to offer that trust on their own, but either way, she's out.

Her legs are fire and her lungs aching by the time she reaches the Lantern, where the chaos is nearly as bad as Coal Station. She's not thirty feet inside the building before zi'Yevhan pulls her aside. And not just aside, but into an alcove, away from view. "Hawke! What the buggering fuck is going on? There's word that plague is boiling out of anywhere you've touched in Coalside," he hisses at her. "Nearly half the Lights are already convinced you need to be arrested."

"I'm on it. Get me to the Hand, stat." Her face is grim, her tone firm. _It'd be nice if someone remembered I'm a hero._

"Panis is in the main hall, with everyone else. He's been trying to get people to focus on the _plague_ and deal with you later, when the city isn't about to die," zi'Yevhan explains as they start for the main hall. "Your allies are split defending you and agreeing with him, so it's all a mess."

"Great. I need five minutes with him, then he can wrangle the other Lights."

"And we need a cure for this plague, but neither are available," he says, slightly annoyed. "Hawke, you need to back off from your hyper-focus and pay attention. If you go in there with the mentality you have now, you're just going to get arrested and be no help to anyone."

"You think I care if I'm arrested?" She turns, now, letting her anger loose on her sponsor. "People might _die_. If it'd get them the help they need, I'd rot in prison for a decade."

"That's well and good, but make sure you _get that help_ first," he snaps back. "You won't make any headway on getting help if half the room thinks every word out of your mouth is tainted."

Some of the fire dies back from her eyes. "Can you get him to come out? If they don't see me..."

"...No, but... you were serious about not caring about what happens after, as long as Coalside gets the help it needs?" zi'Yevhan asks slowly. At her quick nod, he continues quickly, "go big then. I'll slip in looking frustrated. Give me a ten count or so, then storm in. "

She nods. "If I end up having to do something drastic, know that I really do appreciate the opportunity you've given me."

The dwarf studies her for a moment, then laughs softly. "Got a plan in your head then, I gather? Just remember that's not a bet you can make often. Be careful," he warns her, knowing he's wasting his breath.

"It's not a ploy. That should help, right? If I'm... earnest?"

"I suspect enough of them have truth sensing spells or training for it to convince a handful at least," he agrees with a nod. With that, they reach the doors leading into the Wick. "Strike ore," zi'Yevhan says with a nod before he slips inside.

She waits, pacing in front of the door, turning over what she's going to say in her mind a few times. She digs out her stole from her bag, shaking the wrinkles out of it before donning it. She counts to ten; she wonders if she's counting too fast, and counts to twelve, then fifteen. Then worries she's counted too slow.

_Merrill. Zevran. Aveline. Gods, give me strength._

Then she holds her head up high and throws open the doors as forcefully as she can, just to make sure she makes an entrance.

For the center of the government for the largest and most magical city-state in the Former Domain, the Wick is fairly simple in design, if not in construction. A perfect circle of white marble tiered seating surrounded an open area roughly twenty feet in diameter with a single short stool. The most obvious magic is in that there's no break in the seating for a door way, but instead you just step from the doorway and appear at the base of the section you belong at. For Lights, it's their faction section. For guests, its the small wedge of seating set aside for them. The lighting is, of course, also magical, being a floating tongue of molten gold rather appropriately if predictably in the shape of a candle flame.

There are also comfort and convenience charms- temperature control, cleanliness, sound manipulation to ensure everyone can hear anyone that's standing or in the center area and the like. There's also a massively overpowered sanctuary ward in place, one capable of taming a lesser Archduke at the least (possibly even more aggressive and powerful beings, but that one was tested during one very controversial meeting centuries ago).

From a quick glance, it looks like about twenty or so of the full thirty-one Lights are in the Wick at currently, plus the Lord Hand currently in the center area attempting to shout down a particularly alarmist Founder Light. Emerin zi'Balten, and someone Hawke has squared off more than one before. Last time it was concern that teaching Coalsiders more about sex will lead to an increase in sexual promiscuity.

"-this body shall not act due to paranoia and hysteria, much less based on unconfirmed rumor and untested conjecture! We are the Guiding Lights of Nyra, beings of reason and intellect, and we shall not act like scared sheep running from strange noises," Panis thunders.

"We have reports from seven different places- each one of them a brothel or business she owns!" another Light shouts back. Lord Brandon zi'Polim, a crusty old bastard that took it rather... poorly when she turned down the offer he'd made in regards to his eldest son and her getting married. "It's entirely clear that-"

_Guess I've been noticed. Showtime._ She walks forward, letting the ring take her to her place, but choosing to step down and cross the floor instead of going to her seat. She keeps her head high, pretending she hadn't heard, that she knew nothing else. Instead, she walks directly toward Panis, stopping a few feet away to give a bow, her fist over her heart.

"My lord, there is an emergency in Coalside; these first hours are crucial. I have my medics doing all they can, but I need more men than I can gather to supply them. I have come to ask for men, someone to organize them, coin, and what medical supplies can be scrounged up."

Then she raises her head, her eyes flashing with anger and fear. "We can discuss the causes once the bleeding is staunched." A medical analogy feels appropriate here; play up how closely she's associated with healing, not harming. _Maybe I won't have to offer._

"Absolute-" Lord Brandon zi'Polim begins to attack her before he's cut off. Not by a shout but by being ignored.

"You've been on scene then, Light Sage zi'Hawke?" Panis demands, turning to face her and stepping back a touch. "What do you have to report?"

"I discovered the scene at Voice in the Dark with my wife; she identified the fallen as struck with an illness, which must have had a rapid onset as they were lying slumped across the floor rather than in sickbeds. We quarantined the scene immediately; she is inside, helping treat the afflicted. I sent word to Sage zi'Smith and a healer; I received word then that there were multiple other afflicted sites, and immediately set them to be quarantined as well. I called for a communications expert and set up a base of operations outside Voice, but I don't have the men to impose the additional quarantines and act as runners both. My attempts to call upon the Guard for aid went unheeded. We must act quickly, before this gets out of hand entirely."

zi'Magnus leans forward, ever so slightly; the man is stately, stern, but clearly invested in the story being told.

zi'Huntinghawk frowns, sitting back. The whole topic of Voice in the Dark makes her deeply uncomfortable, but she's already sent word to her foolish apprentice to break out the supplies and get ready to send them once the need is assessed. _Another inventory and replenishment is good for his soul._

"What do you mean, 'unheeded?'" Lord zi'Rainbowall demands, drawing himself up. His eyes blaze with prismatic light, a normal sigh of his temper. His natural eyes were replaced with enchanted diamonds years ago, giving him a striking, if somewhat off-putting, appearance. Still, he got rather pissed, rather fast... wait, isn't there a Lt. Rainbowall under Aveline's command.

"That hardly seems to be the issue needing to be addressed," Lady zi'Balten insists. "She should be arrested and questioned!"

"If you wish to question me, fine, but send men and supplies **now** , before this gets any worse." Her temper gets the better of her; that comes out harsh, chiding. An instant later, she drops her gaze, bowing her head and saying, softly, but clearly: "...please. My wife is in there."

"Agreed," Panis says simply, already moving to leave the Wick. "Gathering concluded, over, done, we'll talk later, zi'Hawke, don't leave town, so forth and so forth."

"Lord Hand, surely you cannot be-"

Lord Panis whirls in place, a thrum of pure, raw presence slamming into everyone. " **I will not have this body stand idly and uselessly by while my city is ravaged by foul disease!** " he thunders. "We have had word by one of our very own, in person, who has seen what is happening! If we know nothing out about Lady zi'Hawke, I think we can agree that her love for Lady Hawke is such that she would not have exposed her to this vileness for any reason."

"If I had anything to do with causing this," she adds, when he's done, during the awkward silence afterward. "I'll resign on the spot and walk myself right to the prison." Then she moves to follow after.

They leave behind a rather annoyed group of people, but at this point, it's likely neither give a shit. Nor do they care to talk, though Hawke does notice that Panis never gets too close to her. Once they're outside, he slips a hand into his wait pouch and removes a wand. "Do you consent to a flight spell, Lady zi'Hawke?" he asks briskly. At her impatient nod and outstretched hand, he gives her a quick tap, then himself. Being able to cut straight there at nearly double her best running speed, they land outside Voice to find... fuck.

Varric and Seli- _Seli?_ \- along with a handful of random people Hawke vaguely recalls seeing working for Varric are facing off against a full two dozen guardsmen and Lord Balair complete with minotaur bodyguard. The guard don't look all that enthused, but they're disciplined and dutiful. Lord Balair doesn't notice the two Lights descending to the ground behind him. "If you don't move out of the way, I will order my troops to set fire to you along with the building!"

"This is what I meant by unheeded," she mutters half under her breath as she steps forward, rolling up her sleeves. "Ahem! Cease this interference at once!" she snarls.

Lord Balair stiffens, then whirls around. Spotting Hawke, who landed a few seconds ahead of Panis, he storms towards her. "You! I will have you tried and hung for treason! How dare you incite rebellion during a crisis!" he snarls.

She steps to the side, thumbing over her shoulder. "I incited what now?" she asks. Her tone is sweet, but there's no sign of mirth on her face, only terrible wrath held in check by the need to look civil in front of her boss.

Lord Balair's follow her gesture and lands on the Lord Hand, who stares back, a single raised eyebrow his only comment.

The noble swallows hard, then soldiers on. Coming to a stop a few feet from Hawke, he glares at her. "You gave conflicting orders to the guard, encouraging them to delay and work towards unofficial goals. And you've attempted to give command to a _criminal_!"

"Oye! Innocent until convicted, Lord Badair!" the dwarf interjects.

"Lord Hand, please, you must see that she is committing outright treason!" The noble continues, ignoring Varric's shout.

"Why? Do you want me to? I normally have a no-treason policy, but for you, I'm sure I can make an exception." Her voice cracks on the last word, like a whip or a frozen tree branch snapping.

"I have seen nothing of the sort. Now, perhaps we could focus on the _fucking plague_ that's infected Nyra?" Panis asks, voice tight. He's not actually on the ground, Hawke notices suddenly, but rather hovering an inch or two up.

Lord Balair's neck reddens. "I have been _attempting_ to handle that very thing, but having the guard fight me at every step because of _her_ ," he jabs his finger at Hawke again, "is making it nearly impossible! Nothing can be done until their divided loyalties is-"

"Easily solved. You're fired. Lady zi'Hawke, by my authority as Lord Hand, you are now Pro-tem Magistrate d'Coalside," Lord Panis says bluntly. "I'll send in supplies and additional forces. Get this fixed. And if you take advantage of this, or I found out you did, in fact, have a hand in causing it, you won't need to quit, I'll rip your heart from your body and set it afire myself."

Well. No pressure. _Gulp_. "Yes, sir," she says instantly, in a tone that would make Aveline proud of her. She scans the group quickly.

"Salla, stay here and fill me in on what his plan was and where everyone is now. Joan, you're with-- I'm afraid I don't know your name," she says quickly, gesturing to one of Varric's men. She doesn't wait for a response, just continues pairing up: one of Varric's, one guard. She then gives each pair a destination and tells them to enforce the quarantine there at all costs, and wait for further instructions.

Panis nods curtly, then lifts into the air, calling back that the flight spell will last for eight more hours. Handy.

Lord Balairi spends the first thirty second of her taking over gaping and sputtering wordlessly. In a way, it's understandable. He's been the Magistrate d'Coalside for nearly three decades now, and assistant to the previous one for two before that. Having that taken from him without so much as a 'thank you for your service' or any kind of warning must be both painful and shocking. On the other hand, if Hawke was able to undermine his authority and take the loyalty of his subordinates without trying to do so, then maybe he wasn't doing as good a job as he should have been.

The rest of the people around snap to with relieved energy, glad to have one strong voice giving orders. In the middle of all this, Hawke spots Rhys heading towards Varric. At this point, alas, Lord Balair regains enough of his thought processes to start interfering, specifically by pulling his personal guards, roughly a third of the guard present, out to escort him home. That subset of the group seems conflicted and confused, some of them glad to be getting orders to leave, others clearly uncomfortable walking away. Everyone else is doing what Hawke orders with admirable focus and dedication, however.

Marian's face twitches, but she continues assigning. "Smitty," she adds, turning to one of Varric's men whose name she knows. "I need you to send word of my promotion to Aveline, and get her here to command her men going forward. Tell her to pull... I need at least six more, if she can spare them, right now. She can decide from there how many more."

"You have your orders, move out," she barks after that, heading for Varric. When she gets to him, she stops, no trace of uncertainty on her face -- or, for that matter, anything but business. Bad sign. "What do you need, Varric? I've got more men coming, and I trust you can get the information where it needs to go. Give me lists of supplies and I can get them, or whatever would be most useful."

"Right, follow me, I have a desk- table- set up over this way," Varric says, just as briskly. "First though- Merrill is fine. Whatever this is, it's not spreading at all as far as they can tell."

"Beloved and Child wish to report that all the afflicted have been stabilized," Rhys announces as he reaches the pair. He falls into step with them, continuing, "symptoms remain high fever, sweating, dry mouth, pink rash around joints, discoloration of fingertips, unconsciousness, and agitated dreaming. All medicals remain unaffected: air and skin have been ruled out as infection vectors."

"Check the foodstuffs," she says automatically. "My first thought was poison, it could be borne by ingestion." She follows Varric, giving no sign she heard him about Merrill. All business.

"I will inform Beloved that of your words." Rhys pauses, then adds, "she will be pleased to know you have returned." With that, he departs, heading back to the Voice.

"Poison? Why?" Varric asks, eyes snapping to her. Hawke might not be a trained healer, nor an investigator but she's a damned intelligent woman and, occasionally, almost eerily perspective.

"Sudden onset. Disease tends to send you to bed, but the victims I saw were lying across the main floor, as if they'd been walking and collapsed suddenly. That sounds like poison. I didn't see wounds, no blood, so it wasn't on a weapon. Merrill made the call that it was disease." Again, her tone is pure factual, just reporting.

"Well, she would know... the rash is a pretty good sign of disease. Poisons that leave rashes don't cause fever. Or, well, none that I know of do both and don't kill in less than an hour," Varric notes clinically.

"Alright. As this doesn't seem to be spreading, at least not that we can tell, we've been focused heavily on locating anyone that's infected and locking them down. So far, we have seven pockets: Voice, two other brothels, three clinics and your general goods store. Forty-eight afflicted, no deaths as yet. Fuck if I can see any solid connections... at least, any connections that shouldn't also be covering a half dozen or more other places anyway." They reach Varric's 'desk,' a massive table he'd borrowed from somewhere or another. It's covered with stacks of parchment organized in that seemingly chaotic system her Papa uses that no-one short of supernaturally intelligent could utilize without constant referral to a cheat sheet. "It's not you- you have a half dozen more clinics if nothing else, and Ander's old place isn't among the pockets so it's not just the most important ones. Fuck, as far as I know, you've not been to the Redwillow Clinic since it opened last year. It's not proximity, clientele base, race of manager or staff..."

_It's not you._ That sinks in, a little; a flash of guilt and doubt crosses Hawke's face for a moment before she smoothes it away. "Check vendors, cleaning services, new magic item acquisitions," she rattles off. "Maybe it's a magical ailment: spreads like poison, kills like disease."

"Some asshole's far too creative curse? Could be, yeah. Nothing hits the panic bell in a city like plague. Shit, I can only imagine how bad the looting already is," Varric gripes. "Alright, you grab vendors and services, I'll start checking inventory," he says, looking over at the pile of papers with a gimlet stare. "...Devens, brew more java!"

Hawke, grateful for something mind-numbing to do, plops down, grabs a stack of papers, and throws herself into the work she can do. Please, be okay...

The next few hours pass without a word of complaint from Hawke. She answers questions, defers staff issues to Aveline, defers information reports to Varric, defers healer questions to zi'Smith and Wynne, hands off every bit she can to someone more qualified, and throws herself deep into comparing vendors, ledgers, and books. _There has to be **something**_ , she tells herself, when she can think at all.

And... there is. Maybe. Possibly. Two threads, both equally plausible, both equally perfect except for one, niggling flaw. All seven of the pockets have the same trash and waste chapter of the sanitation guild serving them. Problem is that so do two other places of similar size and location. Hawke sends off runners, in pairs, to double check those places aren't unnoticed pockets as well but... The other thread is both more and less promising- an ale brewery that's opened a new line of cider products. It's only been running a month, and hasn't picked up many contracts but the parent company is robust and well respected so it's only a matter of time. Problem with this one is that 'not many' contracts means six, not seven. All six contracts are to a pocket, but the Voice isn't on that list. Zevran has very high standards for what he sells in the Voice, and often uses his other brothels as test-beds for new products...

Before she can chase down whatever that line of thought caused to wriggle in the back of her mind, she hears shouting and a _scream_ from inside Voice. She's on her feet before she can think twice, but she freezes then, not moving any closer to Voice. The temperature plummets. She closes her eyes, breathing deeply. _In. Hold. Out._

There's the sound of scuffling, then the familiar sound of one of Bob's air blasts a second before the bartender flies out the window to land between Hawke and Voice. A moment later, Merrill's head pops up in the window, her expression rather stunned, then relieved. "Hawke! Make sure he doesn't get away! If he's still alive, I mean," she adds before vanishing.

Hawke's eyes snap open, and she rushes the man, slinging her staff off her back as she goes.

The man's waist and hips are... saggy. And there's a fair amount of bleeding. Hawke only has basic healing, but she does recall that the bleeding is actually a good sign, as it suggests his heart is still beating. Well, good provided she wants him to be alive anyway. After a moment, he lets out a groan, then tries to get up. But, well, hips and waist have bone shards instead of... actual bone, so it's not working well for him.

Around her, Hawke can feel and see various members of the guard coming to support her. She kneels to help the man, but stops when she sees him trying to get up. _Shouldn't that... hurt? A lot? Why isn't he screaming?_ asks the curious, dispassionate voice that is all she can find of her mind right now. "Torvald? Are you alright?"

Torvoald lets out a nonverbal response, still struggling to rise.

A few seconds later, Merrill comes skidding to a halt next to Hawke. "Still alive... good," she pants. "Maybe. Hopefully," she adds, then shudders. "Please Astea and all her allies, be a good thing," she whispers, then shakes her head. "Can you hit him until he passes out?"

"I could dose him with something," a wry voice to their left offers. "You know, instead of Hawke braining him."

Hawke turns, already agreeing: "Yes, do it. Merrill, what's wrong with him? No pain response?"

"No anything response," Merrill says bleakly, staring at the man. "Merry was taking another vitals readout when he just woke up and tried to attack her. Hands and teeth, wild. He didn't respond to verbal commands, physical commands, sleep spells or pain, as you noted. We got him off Merry but he went for me so Bob sent him through the window." She winces slightly as Varric shoots Torvald in the foot with a dart.

"I can Web him if need be," Hawke says, readying her staff.

"I've instructed the other healers to make us of the... stores of ropes and other such things," Wynne says, coming up behind them. "At least it seems chemical methods seem to work," she notes as the patient slowly sags to the ground. "What-"

"Blue annabel root," Varric replies before she can finish. "Smoked and made into a tincture."

Merrill edges towards Hawke, eyes tired and stressed. "Hey," she says softly. "Zevran is... still sleeping. Vitals are strong and... he seems to be... less stressed in his sleep than the others."

Hawke stares down at Torvald, her eyes blank, unresponsive. "Good," she says, her voice sounding distant even to herself. She turns to Varric then. "I found nothing that fits the available facts well enough." _Except for... what is it I'm forgetting?_ "What next?"

"Hawke did you-" Merrill cuts off when she feels Varric take her elbow.

"Unless you've figured out a connection... we're stuck. Just have to wait for something new to break," the dwarf says gently. "Get something to eat and drink, rest your eyes for a bit."

She shakes her head. "Can't. I'm going to check out the Hog's Mead Brewery, then." She turns, heading to go check the address.

"Check out where now?" Varrick asks, confused.

"Hog's Mead. New brewery downtown. Six of the seven locations are clients, but not Voice."

_Busy work then._ "Fine. But take Andy and a half squad. This is starting to look like terrorism or covert ops bullshit," he says in a low voice.

Hawke frowns -- not displeasure, but deep thought, though if you asked, she couldn't tell you what about. Just... _That could very well be it. How would I even find that out?_ "Agreed," she says, after a moment, the frown evening out. _Where to find Andy... oh, of course, over by Aveline._

Andy is indeed over by Aveline, unoccupied but tense and alert as he waits for an order to be tossed at him.

"Grab half a squad and come with me. We're investigating a lead." Her face is neutral, but she does give a quick nod to Aveline.

"Alright," Aveline says, nodding back. "Take... Delta-1."

Andy nods and rushes off to find the aforementioned people.

"What do you have, Magistrate?" Captain Vallen asks crisply.

"Tenuous connection, but it could be poisoning. Six of the seven locations changed suppliers to a new brewery, Hog's Mead. They sell primarily cid---" Something flashes across her face, then, her eyes widening in surprise and pain. "[Flaming mastodon shit,]" she curses in Orcish, shaking her head. "That's it. All seven changed."

"Hawke. Give me odds. How sure are you?" Aveline asks as she steps closer, voice low.

"Seven of seven locations changed to using this brewery recently. It's brand new, only a few clients. The onset of symptoms is more like a poisoning than a disease. Eight in ten. Maybe even eight in nine."

"Alright," Aveline says slowly, nodding. Turning, she inhales deeply, then bellows. "Alright, I need Charlie-full, Delta-full and four runners!" As people start to scramble, she turns to Hawke. "Welcome to command, Magistrate. Remember they're trained but not as good as any of us. Have them support each other. And that you have to stay in control, don't just barrel into a fight. And come back to us," she finishes in a low voice.

She balks, blinking. "Aveline. I can't. I don't know what I'm doing with guardsmen." _And I'm not at my best right now._

Aveline smiles thinly. "That's what you have, Magistrate. Learn quickly. Sgts Hendricks and Selmaia are solid. Listen to their advice if they give it. Give them broad goals and let them carry them out. Trust in their teamwork and discipline, just watch to see if they need support."

_What if I'm wrong?_ Aveline can see the thought cross Hawke's face, but she swallows, nods, stays silent. _I just have to do my best._

\---

Ten minutes later, Hawke and the twenty other troops- sixteen guard and four runners- arrive at the Hog's Mead brewery. It's a fair sized building, maybe two acres all told, including the yard around it. And the stack of barrels outside have the same logo she recalls seeing on the side of the jugs from when Sandal was at Voice.

"Gate is locked but Max says he can pick it easily, mi'lady," one of the squad leaders- his uniform says Hendricks- reports. "The grounds look clear and empty. Orders, Magistrate?"

Her heart wrings with pain. She pushes it aside, pushes everything aside, freezes over. "Pick the lock. Send some men around back, to make sure nobody sneaks out the back. We'll need to take samples back for testing but if you see any people, hold them for questioning."

"Right you are, Magistrate," he replies, turning to bark out orders.

A minute later, he turns back around to say, "will you be coming in to search as well?"

_Why wouldn't I?_ "Yes."

"As you say mi'lady, I'll assign-" He breaks off, eyes visibly going to the staff in her hand. "Assign a runner in case you need to send orders elsewhere," the Sgt. says instead, saluting. "Do you have any further orders?"

"No. Thank you."

Sgt. Hendricks nods crisply. Seeing that the gate is open and half of Charlie is heading around back with a runner, he nods again. "Delta will breach first in sixty seconds. The rest of Charlie will provide support." He glances at Hawke again. "How..." he begins, then pauses. "How will the Magistrate wish to..."

"I'll go in first." _This is way too many people to keep track of._ "Follow after and fan out. People first, then records, then samples. Anything else is immaterial."

"Magistrate... perhaps it might wise to allow guard to enter first in case there are enemies within?" he asks carefully.

She turns to stare at him. "Why?" she asks, blankly.

Sgt. Hendricks pauses a moment. "Because you're the Magistrate of Coalside now, mi'lady. If something happens to you, then we fall into disorder," he says slowly.

"I'm a hero. I'll be fine." She can't manage a cheeky smile, though she knows she should.

The guard lets out a huff of breath. "As the lady says," he finally replies, moving off to finish giving orders and leaving Hawke to her thoughts for a moment.

_You're going about this all wrong, Hawke. You're going to disappoint Aveline._ She pushes that away, as well. _I'm so close. Get the samples. Get them back to Varric. Help run tests. Cure the poison. Save Z--everyone._

Contrary to their worries, the factory is empty. Well, empty of combatants- there are a dozen works, each and everyone of them passed out and feverish. Which does bode well for this being the source of the contagion at least. They spend the next half hour sweeping the place, grabbing documents, bundling up the workers to take back to somewhere with healers, grabbing samples of all the various drinks and even borrowing some wagons to cart all of that back to Voice.

Varric and Aveline are having a rapid fire but low voiced debate when they arrive, both of them turning to look at her with clear relief and frustration on their faces.

"Hawke!"

"We found it. More afflicted coming in. We've brought samples we can test for whatever's doing it." Hawke doesn't bother with greetings, just unloading information as she walks up.

"Thank fucking Astea and anyone else," Varric says with a relieved sag. "That should be-"

Aveline waves him off, turning to face Hawke directly. "Magistrate- as required, we've been updating the Lights with details as they come in. Upon the latest, we've-" she pauses, then backs-up. "While you've been gone, six more afflicted have awoken as feral. At the Doonesdane clinic... one of them managed to kill a healer before being killed herself." Her face is impassive, unyielding. "The healer went into convulsions post-mortem and rose as a ghoul of typical means less than a minute later. When this was reported to the Lanterns, we-"

Varric cuts in, "the fuckwad section of the Lights is pushing to have all the afflicted killed in order to prevent any spread, before they wake up feral."

Hawke's face hardens, closing over. "No." The temperature drops to 'midwinter', frosting the ground around them in a wide circle, but she shows no sign of distress, only grim determination. This is 'burn the bodies' Hawke, 'kill them all and hide your traces' Hawke; someone Aveline's never seen, but Varric has, if incredibly rarely.

Aveline nods sharply. "With your order as Magistrate, I can block any orders to the contrary until and unless they get two-thirds majority. At the moment, they only have eight out of the twenty votes they need for that," Aveline says carefully. "You finding the source buys us space to maneuver in." Strangely, she doesn't seem bothered at all by the Hawke she's talking to. Then again, they did try to abandon _her_ Coalside to plague, and worse, made her _help_.

Varric snorts. "Right, well, let's not dawdle, I don't trust them not to try and fuck us some other way. Hawke, let's get to work." Hawke isn't an alchemist or a herbalist, not even a healer or really any kind of academic but she's fucking smart, has good hands and is steady. There's no-one Varric would want more helping him in a lab, particularly in these kind of circumstances.

"Agreed," the temporary Magistrate says to Varric. She gives a short bow to Aveline. "Get me if needed. I'll back whatever order you want to say came from me, and if I have to go to zi'Ulthlis again, I will."

Aveline winces a little, looking vaguely guilty. "I... may have already done that. Said you disagreed," she mutters with a blush. "Well, implied," she hedges. In fairness, she has the right to do so, technically maybe, given her status as Hawke's Champion but in this setting, with Aveline being able to speak on behalf of her boss...

"Good. Feel free to do it anytime."

Varric smirks a little, clearly amused at seeing Aveline act with such... discretion and cunning. "Right. What did you bring me?" he asks as the two hurry off.

While Varric and Hawke, along with a few other healers and mages work on the samples and such, others go through the papers. Thankfully, Hog's Mead had only been running a pilot program with their cider, wanting to test the reception before they really started to try and make this new venture work. So there's only nine places that were contracted out to buy the cider and one of those wasn't to get a shipment until next week. Runners and guard are dispatched to the eight location, the Gilder Goose.

Evidently, there is a connection to Hawke, but it's just a coincidence of her being so famous and connected- the manager in charge of this new division of Hog's Mead had a daughter that Zevran's safehouse had, ah, rescued from the street. So the manager had been a little generous with his offers to businesses with a strong connection to the Champion of Coalside. That's it. Nothing nefarious and planned, just a grateful man that's also savvy enough to know that business run by a Light like Hawke will be protected and respected.

On the other side of the investigation, they make a few... interesting discoveries. The base of the plague- which the Doctor, joining the research time as things are stable with the afflicted for now, officially reclassifies as a cursed toxin- is poppy and brown-ring caterpillar venom. That last had taken a few bit of work to figure out, as it's not normally powerful enough to affect even a juvenile humanoid. Someone- and the chances of this occurring by mischance due to accidental magical contamination are astronomically ludicrous- must have figured out a way to not only enhance both toxins, but also blend them with ghoul disease (which is not technically an actual disease) to create some kind of hybrid effect that the Doctor dubs 'Necrosifying Slumber Poison.'

As for a cure... they have basically nothing. They need to third ingredient, the source of the magical aspect of the NS Poison. Which... they can only hope is back at the brewery, hidden somewhere they didn't search last time. In theory, if they can find the relic or fetish or possibly but probably not ritual circle, they can make some headway.

\---

Hawke rubs at her eyes, glancing out the window. _Sunrise. When did the sun set?_

It's a good question; other good questions include 'when did I last eat', 'how long has that mug of ale been sitting there untouched', and 'why is everyone wrapped in thick winter cloaks'. She banishes them all, stumbling up from her desk. "I'm going back to Hog's Mead. I must have overlooked something before."

Varric looks over at her with bleary eyes. "What? Oh, right there. Yes." A pause. "Take, umm, take Isabela and Andy's squad with you for extra eyes."

Hawke nods. "Sure. Last time they saddled me with two full squads, though." That said, she moves for the door.

Isabela- and when did she show up?- is worth at least a squad in her own right, thank you. And the back of Hawke's mind, one of the many parts that she's not paying any attention to notes the faint blush on Sgt. Hendrick's face when he spots their new addition. Before Hawke can can get far, she feels a familiar hand on her arm, then an equally familiar- and welcome- surge of energy rush through her. _Paladins are great._

The trip back to the brewery is uneventful, and the two guards that were stationed there report that no-one has been in or out since they left. Now much clearer-headed, Hawke nods to her guards, pushing past them to head into the brewery. "Fan out. Anyone who can detect spellwork, do so. We're looking for magic, anything remotely magical. Bring word of it back here, where Hendricks is going to be keeping a running list."

"Sergeant," the man says a touch gruffly, but otherwise sees to splitting the squad up. One of the guards, a stout looking dwarf lass, pairs up with Isabela, while the other get into pairs as well. As Hawke starts into the building, she notices she's picked up a red-headed merikos ifrit girl as a shadow. Well, young woman rather. Still growing into her face though, and based on how stiff her uniform looks, a raw recruit. Eager enough though.

More importantly... brewery isn't huge but it's not small either. Lots of places to look... Hawke starts with the place most likely to her -- the barrels of cider waiting to be delivered. She figures she can start at the end of the chain and work her way backward to the raw ingredient storage if she has to. The guard tags along faithfully- a second glance has Hawke noticing her name tag reads 'Oakley' which is good to know- as they head for the barrels. There aren't many, which makes sense for a test run. Seven barrels, each about up to her mid thigh, lay stacked in two pyramids: three with one atop and three awaiting their peak. Unfortunately, the standard magical detection spell is useless for this, and she has to break into each one to test it with the charmed stone the research team came up with. By pressing the stone against the test sample, it acts as a focus or agent to allow the cantrip to work. Probably. Well, it worked on the samples back at the Voice site.

And they're infected, as she suspected. Hawke climbs all over every inch of the storeroom, then moves on to the racks where the cider is fermenting. She investigates that equipment thoroughly, then moves on to check the vats. _Nothing. Nothing! Am I wrong? What if this is just an excuse to get rid of me while they -- Aveline and Varric would never stand for it._

She pushes her fears away, tamping them down. _Not much longer_ , she notes dispassionately. _If I have to keep going much longer, I'm going to hurt someone_. She heads for the ingredient storage, resigned to checking every apple, every bit of sugar if she has to--

A scream rings out. She is running in an instant, making her way toward the back office -- just in time to see Isabela take a nasty hit from a four-foot tall smirking imp. Now it's Hawke who screams; not in fear, but a cry of pure rage. Moments later, there's nothing left of the imps but ice. "Right. Search the room." she snaps, to the guards who came running when they heard her.

The guard are... 'strangely' wary about poking about in the room- or perhaps at being around her right now- but after Andy pushes past them with a pointed sniff, they get to work. Five minutes later, Andy jolts back with a hiss. "Found their safe," he grits out, shaking his hand where he was shocked. "Hawke, you any good at this sort of thing?"

"Move," she says instantly.

"Nuh-uh," cuts in Isabela, muscling her way toward the safe. "I've seen your Dwarven Lockpicking skills."

"Magic," she whines plaintively. "You can't pick apart spellwork."

Together, they get to work: one dispelling the magical trap, the other picking the lock. Together, carefully, they withdraw the large glass jar from the safe, and there it is: a slurry of yeast, and floating right on top, a red stone ring with runes around the outside edge. In the center, encased in amber, is a small dried flower and a dead caterpillar.

Ice coats the jar, obscuring their view and likely killing the yeast. Hawke doesn't care. She tucks the jar under one arm and heads for the front door of the building. "Meet me back at Voice," she tells Andy, before casting her own Fly spell and launching into the air.

\---

As Hawke nears the Voice, she can see a fair bit of movement. Frantic movement. From the look of things, the guard appear to be moving people in? People in chains, tied to boards and- ah, they must have been consolidating the afflicted into one place. Unfortunately, a mob of some seventy or so civilians rioted their way right into the caravan, causing a few to get loose and start attacking the crowd. So there's a three or four way brawl- guard trying to restrain the civilians and afflicted, the mob trying to get away, riot and killing anyone that might be sick, the afflicted trying to kill people and the increasing number of ghouls torn between feasting or getting out of sight.

Varric is floating ten feet off the ground, taking pot shots at ghouls while Aveline and a double squad of guards are attempting to break through to reinforce the remaining guards of the caravan. Hawke comes to a stop a few feet above Varric, off to one side a bit, lifting her staff as she gathers ice, rage flashing in her eyes. "Control!" Varric calls out sharply as he reads her intention. To be honest, he doesn't give a fuck of his own, but he suspects _she_ will after she gets her head back in the right space. "Did you find anything?"

Hawke stumbles a pace, shifting too many mental gears. Finally, as the spell pours forth from her, a storm brews before them, pouring sleet and fog onto the group -- but not hail. "I--" she begins, but can't find the words. As she turns, however, he can see she's carrying the jar, so that's good.

"Off you go then! We can handle this, get that to the healers!" he barks out, sniping some ass with a hoe before they can take a swing at Aveline.

Hawke turns without a word, heading for their temporary office space. _Please, let me just.. let me just wake them up_.

\---

They don't, not in time, not before the riot's died down. But within an hour and a half, they manage to break the spell, waking the sleepers. As soon as their test subject wakes, Hawke's off at a run, back down to Voice, into the building, up the stairs, throwing open the door to Zevran's room.

When she sees him sitting up, she throws herself at the bed, laying herself across his lap as she bursts into tears. Merrill, in the midst of trying to gently explain what had happened, steps back with a muffled squeak. Zevran, head still muddled, reaches down to thread his fingers though Hawke's hair out of pure habit. "I... am sorry, Hawke, but I do not think I am in the m- are you crying?"

A sob wrenches out of Merrill and she flings herself onto the bed as well, cuddling up to both of her loved ones desperately.

"You're alive," Hawke manages, through the tears. She reaches out with one arm to pull Merrill close, clinging to both her anchors with all her might.

_Confused, very, very confused. Also sore, sweaty and faintly nauseous- and my hands can't stop trembling but-_ "Yes. As are you both... what do I not recall that makes this a thing that is... unexpected?"

"P-p-p-p-p" Merrill breaks down into sobs, muttering a mishmash of elven and sylvan into Hawke's side.

"You've been," she begins, wiping at her tears frantically. "For the past day and some, you've--" Her stomach growls. She lets out a soft whimper, resolving to ignore it.

_Poisoned,_ Zevran's mind fills in, getting a quick frown from the elfblood. _Have I gotten so soft I managed to drink poison like some scrub? Maybe I should brush my skills off, just a little._ A thought for later. Zevran shifts a little so he can hold both his ladies close. "Ssssh," he whispers. "I am tired and a little sore, but fine, no? All is well, my loves, all is well."

_All is well_. She lets the words sink in, trying to reassure her worried mind with facts. _Zevran is alive. Merrill is alive. Aveline is alive and well, and so is Varric, and so is Wynne. I am alive and well. I've proven myself as Magistrate. None can say-- Astea preserve, I said **anything** to do with causing this. That was foolish. Still, even if I go to prison, my Clan will endure, my loves yet live. It's going to be okay._ "All is well," she whispers, the tears flowing fast and hot. "For the moment, all is well." She lets that rest there for a time, letting Zevran comfort her.

Ten minutes later, Varric eases his way into the room with a large tray with three bowls on it, with two plates of sliced bread balanced atop them. Setting the tray down next to the bed, he clears his throat to get their attention. Merrill, exhausted by her crying jag, growls softly, then starts sniffing the air as the scent of hot broth fills the room.

"Hawke. Come on, you need to eat something before you pass out. No-one can recall you eating for almost two days," Varric says firmly.

"That's because I didn't," she says, a bit sheepishly, as she sits up.

"Hawke..." Merrill says with a groan. "Why did the healer and patient eat more often than you?" she says in a fussily scolding tone. She sits up with a faint groan, scooting around so she can pull the tray over.

Zevran shifts over as well, so Hawke can get on the other side of him, thus allowing Merrill to set the tray in his lap so they can all use it. "What happened, exactly?" he asks, nipping a slice of bread and stuffing it in his mouth. "Mmmhh," he groans, chewing. "Ah 'sume mm'fuck' who did m'it is dead?" he mumbles without swallowing.

Merrill wrinkles her nose, glaring. "Gross."

"No," she says, her tone suddenly... not dark, per se, but carefully, painfully neutral. "Zevran... this was... we thought it was a plague," she says quietly. "Most of the staff at Voice fell ill, as well as six other locations."

Zevran goes... still. His breathing stops for a moment, before he swallows through a suddenly tight throat. "W-wh- how many?"

"Three at Voice," Merrill says quietly. "Thorvald, Bess and... Merii." Her voice hitches on that last name. She'd known, vaguely, the other two but Merii and she had talked a fair bit. Been intimate. Laughed and gossiped about Merii's brother.

Zevran can feel his lungs vise, hard, the breath in his lungs turning solid.

Hawke drops her gaze. _And how good a Magistrate am I? I didn't think to ask. I didn't care. Zevran was alive._

"Final tallies for the whole affair are still being tallied up," Varric offers quietly. "Last I heard, about twenty minutes ago, it's twelve dead to the NS toxin directly, fifteen due to feral afflicted attacks and sixty-eight due to idiocy. Riots. Far as I know, aside from the three here, none of your other places lost anyone."

_Riots..._ "Did I--?" she asks quietly, turning slightly toward Varric.

"Your sleet storm managed to take the bite out of that mob, allowing the guard to get things under control," Varric reports. "Actually heard a few of the sergeants talking about looking into getting wands or even just scrolls of your sleet spell. Great for riot suppression evidently."

Her shoulders slump in relief, but she simply gives a nod to acknowledge his report. "It was more of a poison, it turns out. The cider, from Hog's Mead."

"The cider?" Zevran asks with surprise. "Why on Aldis did they poison the cider? Hog's has been around for decades."

"I don't know. But it was in the yeast." She shakes her head. "Oh, uh, and I've been temporarily made magistrate of Coalside."

"..." Zevran considers this for a moment, then glances at Merrill as he swallows some broth. "You know, at this rate, we'll be be sleeping with royalty by the end of the decade," he remarks to the elf.

Merrill blinks. "We will? Oh! You mean Hawke. Oooh... King Hawke..." She studies Hawke intently. "You would look really sexy in just a crown. And maybe a fur caplet."

"Bite your tongue," she says, sounding pleased.

"Gods help us all," Varric says with a laugh. "King Hawke... well, it'd certainly be a _lively_ kingdom."

Zevran nods soberly. "The only kingdom in the world where brothels are considered royal preserves."

"Oooh, and no nudity laws," Merrill suggests firmly, getting a funny look from Varric. He hadn't realized his daughter-elcti was that... uh, passionate about the subject.

"And spiders would be outlawed," she adds.

"Agreed."

"Sold."

"Yes please."

They spend some time like this, talking through what she'd outlaw in her kingdom, urging Hawke to eat. Finally, Merrill has to admit Zevran probably should be resting, and Hawke and Varric take their leave, letting her give him one last check over before she catches up.

_It's quieter now,_ she notes, frowning oddly. "Varric... did you hear something, before? When we were working with the yeast?"

"Uh, yeah, of co- You mean from the, uh, rune focus?" Varric realizes suddenly. He looks at her carefully. "No. Did you?"

She pauses, frowning. _It was... no, not really. Almost like the wind? Or..._ "No," she says, finally. "It must have been stress." _Blood rushing through my ears would account for it, just about._

"Maybe... but wouldn't hurt to have you checked out just to be sure," Varric says slowly. "I mean, we did just deal with a faux-possession toxin."

"It was more undead, I felt," she says, quietly. "And we cured it."

"Hawke, you know as well as I do that the runic focus behind this _stank_ of sceleratian magic, even if we couldn't pin down which type," Varric says bluntly. "Besides, it's good optics for you to be checked out just the same as all those afflicted. Shows that you're willing to stand by them and such."

"And it's _bad_ optics to imply I _was_ afflicted," she points out. "But, if you feel it necessary, I'll get looked at."

"Given you were seen by scores of people running around, I don't think that rumor would take very well," Varric counters. "But if you're worried about it, we can have Wynne or the Doc do it quietly."

"Fine," she says quietly, turning her face away as the fight drains out of her. _I'm tired... which is weird, I know I had a pick-me-up._

"You should go back in and have yourself a nap alongside your, ah, partners," Varric says, watching her. "I'm going to hold on for four more hours while Aveline crashes for a bit, so it'd be good if you were refresh to take over for me them."

She shakes her head. "I had a refresher this morning, I'm fine."

"Hawke, you know damn well that get refreshed isn't enough," Varric says with a frown.

"Yeah," she admits, "but I'm not sleepy and the crisis is over."

"I have the feeling that if you bed down with your pair, you'll fall asleep without issue," Varric replies. "And if nothing else, it'll make them both feel better to have you on hand. Hells, when I head down, I'll see if I can catch Aveline while she's eating and send her up. The lot of you need to recharge, emotionally."

Hawke sighs, knowing when she's beaten. "Yeah, alright. But get me if any of the Lights come looking?"

"Of course. Unless I can brush them off," or hide the bodies, depending, "without effort, I'll wake you," he promises. "Go rest so you can take over in five hours for me, after my stims wear off and I can rest."

She plants a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, papa." And turns around to head back to get some sleep.

\---

She can't relieve Varric; two hours later, she's summoned to the Lantern to report on the events in painstaking detail. Seeing the hostile eyes in the room, she requests to be submitted to a Zone of Truth before she speaks; once given the floor, she gives a factual, complete report, leaving out only her emotions on the matter. Casting into a crowd of rioting civilians isn't the best action she could have taken, but she takes pains to point out that it was a non-damaging spell that obscures visibility. She doesn't mention how badly she wanted to rain down hail upon them.

There's some push back, of course. Too many of the Lights had panicked or taken advantage of the chance to censure the new upstart to simply back down without some kind of face-saving measure. But she also has her supporters and allies, plus there's the very simple fact that success is a very good counter to criticism. Not perfect, but a good. There are only two avenues they use to criticize her that go anywhere. The first is her interactions with Lord Balair and the charges of fomenting insubordination during an crisis...

"Regardless of the... sudden promotion that occurred, the facts remain that you did attempt to usurp Lord Balair's lawful authority on multiple occasions," Lord Brandon zi'Polim says gravely. "As well as encourage dereliction of duty, negligence and willful misunderstanding of orders among the guard itself."

"I did no such thing. I sought assistance from the guard, as any citizen might. When it was denied, I stated my case. When that was denied, I left Lord Baliar to issue his orders in peace. Never once did I so much as suggest to the guard that they should be negligent or misunderstand their orders. Any that did so did so on their own."

"It should be noted that," Lord Virinus zi'Marassi remarks blandly, "that Light Sage zi'Hawke has made something of a name for herself as an adventurer and hero. Lord Balair is most known, to the few that do know of him, as a competent account and manager. I have found in my dealings, that one should always take the advice of experts in their field. And a crisis is a hero's field."

Lord zi'Polim's mouth thins. "And I have found that a man cannot serve two masters, least he fail both. Dividing their loyalties, regardless of the reason or purpose, may very well have cost us the city! At the least, it likely lead to lives lost."

"Agreed," says Hawke simply. "He should have come to the field camp and asked what was needed, as I did. We are fortunate that it ended well, however, so I can overlook the mistake."

Her neat turning of zi'Polim's attack draws some approval and even a few soft chuckles. "That is not-"

"But it is what you said," Lord Davis zi'Livingstone observes. "Lord Baliar was a competent and able administrator during mundane affairs, or with a supervisor assisting during special projects but he mis-stepped, badly, during this crisis. If we had abandoned immediate containment to set up a perimeter around Coalside, we'd have been facing thirty thousand ghouls by the time we were finishing up the last few barricades." A bit of hyperbole there, as people were just turning feral when the barricade would have been finishing. Still, hundreds or perhaps even a thousand ghouls would have been... bad.

Hawke nods. "Any man who is willing to abandon Coalside within an hour of learning of a crisis should not serve as its Magistrate. I look forward to working with his replacement."

Before anyone can comment, Panis smoothly interjects. "That is a topic for a later council."

There's a few mutters from people who had something to say on the topic but they do move on to the second issue they have with the NS Toxin crisis. Well, there are many issues that many of them have but just the one remaining in regards to things they can criticize Hawke over.

"Very well then. On to the other... concern we wished to raise," Lady Emerin zi'Balten resumes the conversation. "There were those of us that are concerned," she repeats, "in regards to Captain Vallen's performance during the crisis, specifically her actions after you were given command. It was noted that she began to give herself a very free hand in her decisions, in more than one occasion, doing so in such a manner that it is clear she did not consult with the Magistrate, instead acting on her own. We are concerned that either she took advantage of her... relationship with Lady Sage zi'Hawke to grant herself undue authority or that Lady Hawke instead gave her close, personal friend too much leeway. For either of them to do such a thing during a crisis..."

"I told her to act according to what she saw best, because I trust her judgement and time was of the essence, yes." Hawke clarifies.

"So instead of taking command and properly overseeing the crisis, you simply pushed your authority and duty onto your friend?" Lady zi'Balten asks almost politely, as if just clarifying her answer.

"Rather than step in and try to give the guards orders I felt were logical but which may have been out of touch, I entrusted their commander, who knows them and knows how best to use them, to manage them. I worked more closely with the healers, which I have more training in."

"And you don't see any issue in that? No concern over the conflict of interest?" the noblewoman presses. Lady zi'Balten is fairly well known for her somewhat rabid stance against nepotism and similar abuses of position, a somewhat ironic issue for her to focus on, given she's a Light Founder, the only Light position that is tied solely to bloodline.

"If I were to take a position as magistrate of Coalside permanently, that would be a conflict. If I had chosen her over another guard captain, that would be a problem as well. But I do not see any problem in delegating to those who know the job best, no matter who they are."

"Here here," Lord Norial zi'Lanshug mutters. "The pair did their jobs and did them well. The plague- or faux plague, whatever- has been stopped with less than a hundred dead at current. Estimates put it at less than two hundred eventually. That's damned good for what this was and we all know it. Just the rioting alone, if we'd gone ahead with Lord Balair's plan would have claimed at least as many and wouldn't have solved things."

Lady Balten, however, focuses on something else. "By your words, I take it you do not wish to claim the Magistrate position permanently?"

Many of the Lights go silent, their attention focusing on Hawke sharply.

She blinks. "I hadn't considered it, not really. I doubt I'm qualified; I'm rather young, it's been pointed out. And there's the conflict of interest with Aveline to think of."

"You're a Guiding Light," Lord Merin zi'Yevhan points out dryly.

"So they tell me," she jokes wryly. "And, as many in this room take pains to remind me, very young for that as well."

"You serve... adequately for one with as few decades as you do," Lord Davis zi'Livingstone offers with faint praise.

Speaker Amir zi'Livingstone steeples his fingers, leaning forward. "Indeed. It is rare that one of our number would apply himself so thoroughly as to be half so distinguished early in life."

zi'Huntinghawk rolls her eyes. _I could be napping right now._

"I believe we are getting rather far afield," Panis says idly. "I think we have, at least, settled things in regards to Lady Sage zi'Hawke's performance as Magistrate d'Coalside pro-tem?"

There's some grumbling and a few glances, but no-one disagrees. Every point they had to raise has been, and at this point, bringing anything up will either be seen as petty or tedious.

"Right then," Lord zi'Yevhan says briskly. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I have things to do. I forward this meeting as complete."

A beat later and his forward is accepted and people begin to drift out or into little huddles.

Sage zi'Magnus heads for zi'Smith, glad to be free of this meeting so he can get the real details -- and ensure that he's really as fine as he says he is. zi'Smith is getting old -- well, they both are, but zi'Smith has a bit of the hero in him and refuses to admit it.

zi'Huntinghawk, on the other hand, has an urgent date with her bedchamber. Much as she appreciates Hawke's help with labwork, she has no idea how the younger Merikos pulls so many all-nighters. One night like that a decade would be more than enough for her, thank you.


	18. "Don't wish to be a hero"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver Amell makes one last play.

Three sharp knocks on Aveline's office door; when she calls for the knocker to enter, she may be surprised to find Carver Amell gracing her doorway. He's pulled on his best tunic and vest under his armor, and his sword is sheathed and peacebonded, his Mabari at his heel. His hair is even neatly combed.

"Morning, Captain," he says respectfully.

"Morning," Cpt. Vallen says evenly. She and Carver... they'd been friends, if not especially close ones, for about a year or so. And then the wedding happened and... he's never said anything about what happened, but she's wondered more than a few times if it wasn't partially her fault. Oh, she'd never blamed herself for turning down his drunken advances that night, but Aveline does blame herself, just a little, for not having made it clear long before then that she was with Hawke. Or at least that she wasn't interested in him.

Aveline carefully ignores the part of her that wonders if she could have been, if she'd met him first.

And today isn't the best day, given how busy and overworked she's been since the Cider Ghoul Riots. She's not slept since that nap with Hawke yesterday afternoon, nor eaten a hot meal since right before that. And gods, she cheerfully make out with Zevran as long as it took place in a hot shower. She's not sure what she'd do for a hot bath.

"Did you need something, Mister Amell?"

_She likes my sister, right? So she probably likes bluntness, directness. I'll try that, first and foremost._ He puts on his best charming smile, resting his hand on his coin pouch, tucked into his belt. "I'm afraid you've some of mine in lockdown. I came to barter for their release."

"...if you're here to pay a fine, that's Holding. If you're here to pay a bail, that's also Holding," Captain Vallen replies, tone cooling. She'd not missed the hand moving to rest on his coin pouch and is quite frankly fucking insulted. She's willing to overlook it, as it could have just been chance, and he was once a good friend.

Carver sighs, letting the pouch go. "I _came_ ," he stresses, "to get the whole story from you and see what could be done. If that's a fine or bail, I'll be happy to walk myself down there, but I wanted the truth and you're the least likely guardswoman I know to spin me a lie."

That gets a long, careful look. "Alright, I can spare a bit of time," Aveline finally allows. "...glad to see you made it through the last few days alright. What name or names am I looking up?" she continues briskly.

"Cloven Nychka and Reese Sen," he reels off. "Both minors. Good lads."

"Alright, Nychka and Sen- any idea on a time frame for their arrest?" she asks, rising to her feet.

"Day before yesterday, in the evening. I'm told they went to the market and never came back after the riots. Sean -- Reese's older brother, a chum of mine -- was worried sick until he got word they were here."

"Market? Alright, I'll be back shortly, have a seat," Aveline says, waving at the seat in front of her desk, as she heads out of the room to head over to Intake.

A little more then five minutes later, she's back with a pair of files in hand. "Alright, let's see," she mutters to herself as she sits back down. "Why isn't this Sean here instead of you?" she asks as she flips the files open.

_He wanted to strangle you. We thought I'd take a better approach._ "I had the day off, I figured, no need to lose out on income for this. Reese is a good kid, he knows I'll do whatever in my power to make this right."

"Reasonable enough- I assume you have a writ with Sean's name, giving you authority- or their parent's?" Aveline asks absently as she skims over the report. _This is... attached to the Fair Glade market riot? Kids are lucky they made it out, that was the bloodiest of the five riots that day. There was only one guard squad anywhere nearby and they were forced to turtle until reinforcements arrived almost a half hour later. Five guards killed and twenty-eight civilians. Bunch of idiot kids caught up in that? Lucky they were just picked up for-_ "Murder? Four accounts, though only one a primary agents. Over two dozen charges of mayhem, participatory. And primary for inciting the riot itself," Aveline reads off, her voice growing as she goes. "You call this a being 'a good kid?'"

Carver narrows his eyes. "It's a frame job." he says, bluntly. "Reese is, what, twelve? He's an apprentice tailor. There's no way he killed anyone, let alone four people. Clovan's bigger, but still not--" He bites off, shakes his head, takes a steadying breath. "Sean and I have some... political enemies. I'm worried they're using the boys as bargaining chips."

"Five months from seventeen," Aveline corrects him. "Skinny and short- he's noted as having kender blood. According to witnesses, Cloven Nychka threw a rock and hit one of the victims, followed shortly by Reese Sen shouting a racial slur against elves." Her eyes harden as she reads. "This sparked things, turning the gathering into a full-blown riot. It was later determined that-" Aveline goes silent, the blood draining out of her face as she stares at the file.

"Impossible. Neither of them would do such a thing." He scowls. "It has to be political." _Of course they're worried about the grass-muncher, as soon as one of **them** gets involved all human men nearby are scapegoats._

"She was protecting an elderly man and his great-granddaughter, out for a lunch. The rock caught her on the temple and stunned her long enough for others to start... she was three hundred and ninety-two... and Merrill's grandmother," Aveline says, voice hushed and pained. "I knew her, Carver. Marethari was a good woman, and your friend killed her because her ears were too pointy." She gestures at the file. "Given this was the cause of the Fair Glade riot, all the testimonies were checked with truth spells," she adds hoarsely. "Carver, I'm sorry, but... Nychka and Sen started this riot with a murder. Sen isn't being charged as primary on the murders but still..."

"I should have known." He shakes his head. "I can't say I blame you, but I wish you'd chosen differently. When the conflict comes, I'll fight to protect you all the same. It doesn't sound like it'll be long, now."

Aveline slowly closes the file and looks up at him. "What."

"Have you never wondered why there's no homeland for humans? Elves, Dwarves, even cats have their own places, but humans have no home. We're expected to give everything over to the magical races, as though our fertility makes us unworthy."

"Glaley," Aveline says instantly. "Started as a dwarven mining outpost, joined later by a group of elven nomads. Presently, run by humans, with less than ten percent of the nobility not having human blood. I think it's like three out of four are human outright. And besides, humans and merikos make up more than half of the Lights, and the general population here in Nyra."

"And yet when you hold that up as a good thing, what happens? Suspicious looks, whispers of racism. How dare Glaley self-police, decide who is welcome to move there, in the same manner as Goldengreen? Nyra gets more cosmopolitan by the day, and if I speak against it, I'm branded dangerous, a terrorist."

"Goldengreen is a shithole," Aveline says bluntly. "Nyra welcomes anyone that seeks knowledge and accepts wonder. Human, elven, dragon, or even undead. If you follow the laws, you're allowed in. We don't restrict any immigration based on race. Carver, what does this have to do with two idiots that murdered an old woman who'd never done them a single bit of harm in her entire life?"

"They _didn't_ murder her. But the fact that you brought race into it -- Aveline, can't you see? The elves are trying to stage a takeover, pushing us humans into a second-class status. They knew the boys were vulnerable, and they control the magic, so it was child's play to stage something to discredit our group."

Aveline studies him for a moment, then twists to rummage in her desk for a moment. "Alright, I'll start filling out a complaint for you. Is this on your own behalf or are you representing a group?"

_I know better this time._ "I don't have evidence yet and you know it. But I know the boys, and once I find my proof, I plan to bring it straight to the Magistrate. If you're tangled up in this, know that it won't succeed. We will prevail."

Captain Vallen takes a long breath. "Out of respect for the time I thought you a friend, I'll pretend you misspoke out of passion and ignore that you just called me a traitor to my oaths," she say softly. "Go home Mister Amell. These two will go to trial and whether they spend time in prison or not is up to the court system. I have to go tell Merrill her grandmother was murdered."

_Her grandmother. My sister. Everything comes down to my sister, doesn't it? Is she the center of this? The figurehead?_ "Enjoy your day," he says, grim resignation in his voice. _The time she thought me a friend. My sister has taken even this._

\---

When Hawke answers the door at her house, she's surprised to see Aveline standing on the doorstep. "Avaline? Is everything alright?" She knows it's not, but...

"Is... is Merrill in?" Aveline asks, voice tight. "And Zevran?" she adds. _She'll need both of you for this... Oh Bastion, please send her some kindness._

"Merrill is. Zevran's out. What's... what's happened?" she asks, quietly.

"I..." Her eyes flick around, making sure Merrill isn't close by. "Marethari was killed in one of the riots yesterday."

Hawke freezes in place, her face closing off. She doesn't move for a long moment. Then her eyes flood with tears. _Was this my fault?_ she wonders, and instantly feels ashamed. _Merrill..._ "Will you-- should I get Wynne? Merrill will need..."

"If you get Zevran, I'll get Wynne," Aveline suggests quietly. "I think she'll want everyone around her..."

"Yes," she agrees. _Oh, Merrill, my love..._ Inside her heartache is a little kernel of fear, but she pushes it away, tries not to think about _if Marethari, then Varric._

Fifteen minutes later, Hawke and Zevran return to the house. Aveline and Wynne had already gotten back, Wynne brewing a a pot of tea with a somber expression. "I... she's still in her workroom, I... didn't think I'd be able to act normal," Aveline says weakly. _And I didn't want to tell her without you here._ "Do you... want me to get her?" Zevran offers.

"No," says Hawke quietly. "No, I'm.. I'll do it."

She pushes aside as much of her fear and sadness as she can. It's not quite enough; as she goes to smooth over her face, she stops. Honesty. She heads for the workroom, letting Merrill see the shining of unshed tears, knocking more softly than normally on the workroom doorframe.

"Hmmm, just a moment," Merrill mutters as she fixes a button to the sleeve of a blouse. "Is it dinner already?" she adds absently, not looking up from her work.

"No," she says quietly. "Merrill... something's happened. Please come out?"

There's a barely a moment's pause, the blouse and needle being tossed to the ground, before Merrill is reaching for Hawke's hands. "Hawke, my guiding star, what's wrong?" she asks, the words coming out in elven without a thought.

But Hawke shakes her head, tugging Merrill out to the living room. "Aveline brought news," she whispers, and now the tears begin to flow.

"Is-" Merrill cuts off, heart in her throat, as she follows Hawke out. Her eyes dart around and she relaxes a hair when she sees Zevran. Then tenses again as she doesn't see- "Varric," she breathes, engulfing Hawke in a hug. "Oh Hawke... we'll bring him back, I promise, we-"

"Merrill, Varric is fine," Aveline cuts in quickly, causing the elf to twist her head to look at the captain. Aveline clears her throat, drawing herself upright. "I... I regret to inform-" _No, not like that. Don't do that to her, to either of them. This is family, not another subordinate's next of kin._ "Oh Merrill, I'm so sorry. Marethari was killed yesterday in the riots."

Wynne, head bowed, sets a tray with a tea service on it down on the table as Zevran moves to gather Merrill up in a hug.

"But- no. She can't... I was going to see her tonight. She can't-"

"I'm so sorry," whispers Hawke. "If I had been faster-- I'm sorry, Merrill."

"But she's _fine_ ," Merrill insists. "She came all the way here to be with me, she can't just- she can't be- she came here... she was here because of me..."

"No... neither of you are to blame, my loves," Zevran says firmly. "Not you, nor you," he says, giving them each a squeeze in turn. "Foolish, frightened idiots killed her." _Or possibly greedy or mad with the thought of violence without restraint._

"She came because she loved you." _Loved_. Hawke regrets saying it the moment she's done, her throat closing.

Merrill starts shaking her head, not fast or desperately, but rather slow and almost golemlike. Just back and forth, a steady denial of reality. Aveline slowly approaches, adding herself into the hug. "I sorrow, Merrill," the paladin whispers. "I grieve with you, and for you. She was a won-"

"No!" With a yank, Merrill attempts to pull herself free from the group hug. She doesn't quite manage it with that first effort, not because people are trying to grapple her, but simply because there are three of them and she's got a slight build. But she tries again, even as she's angrily saying, "no, you're wrong! She's not- she's not dead, you're wrong!"

Hawke takes half a step back, looking up, swallowing hard. "..Merrill? My love? Are-- are you alright?"

"You're lying, you have to be lying, she can't be dead, she can't be dead, I'm going to visit her tonight and she'll be there and you're lying because she can't be dead," Merrill says, pulling away and hunching in on herself.

Aveline flinches but doesn't look away. "I... I'm sorry, Merrill, but... I checked. It's not a mistake, she... I filed to claim her... remains on your behalf," she says a little brokenly.

Hawke moves closer again, wrapping her arms around Merrill. "Breathe, my love." she whispers.

Merrill finally, finally starts to cry, still whispering denials into Hawke's shoulder. Wynne slowly moves to rest a gentle arm on the elf's shoulder to slowly rub soothingly. To the side, Aveline closes her eyes, trying to not see Merrill's broken expression so perfectly.

Hawke rubs her back gently, holding her close. "It will be okay. I'm here. Zevran's here. Wynne's here. You're not alone, my heart, my soul. You're here, with us."

Aveline masks it well, but she flinches, just a little. Swallowing, she lets herself out of the house. _Best to let those better suited for it help Merrill. Doubt she wants to be around me right now anyway, given that I'm the bearer of the bad news._ Merrill just continues to sob softly, her protests and denials dissolving into formless noises.

Hawke stares after Aveline, over Merrill's shoulder. The hurt at Aveline abandoning her to deal with this alone is subsumed into the pain at losing someone she considered a friend, even if she was prepared for it. _It's too soon. Oh, Merrill..._

Zevran steps into Hawke's line of sight, makes a gesture for 'back in a moment,' then slips off after Aveline.

"Perhaps we should get her tucked into bed?" Wynne suggests gently, not seeing any of this.

"Merrill? Do you want to lie down and cuddle?" she asks, quietly. Merrill doesn't really reply, just clings tighter to Hawke as she continues to cry.

"When... when you've been... bedridden, she does this. She'll cry herself sick, then pass out after an hour or so," Wynne explains softly.

That stings, too, but Hawke pushes her hurt aside. "Alright. Merrill, let's crawl into bed, okay? Please?" So saying, she starts moving, bringing the elf with her.

Merrill meekly allows Hawke to pull her along, putting up zero resistance to any directive, verbal or physical. She just... placidly obeys. Wynne helps change Merrill into some comfy lounge wear, then goes to fetch an extra quilt, passing Zevran on her way out. And Aveline, who is being pulled along by the hand with a wary, almost resigned expression.

\---

Hours later, after dinner's been had, while Zevran curls up with Merrill and Wynne promises to see about funeral arrangements, Hawke slides her arm around Aveline. The paladin is a captive audience now, since her hands are deep in sudsy dishwater; for once, Hawke doesn't have someone else to fret over, and she wants to hold someone who isn't sobbing right now.

"I can make up the guest bed if you want to stay," she says, quietly. Aveline tenses a little, but as Hawke planned, she can't exactly move anywhere. "I... are you and Zevran going to... be with Merrill?" she asks slowly, her voice sounding like she's working her way to a plan rather than looking for an excuse to leave.

"She won't notice if I spend the night with you," says Hawke quietly. "If you don't want to stay, I'll join them, but..."

"No, that's not-" Aveline's head bows. _Am I really so... greedy and stand-offish, that she would think I'd demand she stay with me when it's Merrill's grandmother that died? Gods, I need to change..._ "I was going to... like after the Moe incident," she mutters.

"Oh!" Hawke's tone is surprised, but she gives Aveline's waist a squeeze of thanks. "I didn't think you'd be up for that. Of course you'd be welcome."

"Merrill's important to me too," Aveline says, just a touch cuttingly, before she can stop herself. She flushes faintly then, ducking her head once more as she focuses on the dishes. "...sorry."

Hawke lowers her head, feeling the rebuke. Finally, she says, "I'm not sure I... want to..." before she cuts herself off. "She needs me," she says, sounding tired.

Aveline frowns, turning around to face Hawke, uncaring of her wet hands. "Vangal's breath, Hawke, I'm sorry, I haven't even thought- she was your grandmother in a way too and I never thought to-" she pulls the merikos elf into a tight hug.

"Electi," she says quietly. "It's not as--" Still, she can't help it. When her head hits Aveline's shoulder, she crumples, sobbing onto the other woman gratefully.

"I only really spoke with her during the trip," Aveline says after the first storm has passed. "And it still hurts. You've spent a lot more time with her and you love better, it's only natural for you to grieve."

"Is this my fault?" she whispers. "If I'd been better, would she have lived? How-- when did she die?"

"Hawke no," Aveline says firmly. "Less than seventy-two hours from discovery to cure is ridiculously fast for something of this nature. The last plague Nyra faced lasted for two weeks. The most recent in history was in Glaley and that lasted for six _months_. Even if this one wasn't a true plague, sixty odd hours is still amazing time for solving things. Please don't do that to yourself."

"It wasn't a plague. It was more of a spell." She sighs, pulling back a little. "Like Memento Mori. Hero work, and I... let myself be subsumed."

"Most investigations take a week to finish," Aveline counters. "And this might have been hero work, I suppose, but of a type you're not familiar with. It... might not be bad if you got more experince with both politics of that level and leading... actually..." Aveline pauses a moment. _Hawke does better with accepting... bad things if she thinks she has a way to do better next time. So maybe..._ "Would... you be interested in attending some guard officer classes? Learning how they work in details? And maybe how they go about solving cases?"

She pauses for a moment, then lets out a long sigh. "I suppose I'd better." Still, there's less of that bleak hopelessness in her voice. Resignation is better.

"It's not an order, just an offer," Aveline says gently. "If you think it'll make you feel better. Snap you out of this funk of self-blame and defeat you're determined to jump in. Again." Her tone is scolding but kind.

Hawke sighs. "I do need to get better at this. I'm no good at politics, and... there was talk about making me magistrate in truth. I'm going to be asked to lead people, again and again. I'd better learn how." She presses a kiss to Aveline's cheek. "It's a good idea."

"I'd follow you," Aveline says softly, then winces. "Magistrate of Coalside?" she realizes. "That would mean..." _There's no way they'd let her be Magistrate and me Captain, not with how... public our bond is now. One of us would have to... and she's the Champion of Coalside. I just... work there. Grew up there. Lived there my entire childhood._ "You'd do wonderfully," she adds weakly.

"I told them I can't be magistrate. One, I'm too young, and two, there'd be a conflict of interest. But it's come up, anyway."

Aveline stills a moment, eyes searching Hawke's. "You- Hawke, you're a Light already. If you're old enough for that, then being a Magistrate isn't out of reach. And... Captains can be reassigned," she says in a carefully neutral tone. "You don't have to-"

"Take Coalside away from you?" she asks, forcing out a bitter laugh. "Never. Aveline, you _belong_ in Coalside."

"Coalside deserves what's best for it," Aveline says firmly. "The good you could do as Magistrate... And you're her Champion."

"The good you're already doing as Captain," she argues. "My attention is split."

"As touching as this bout of mutual martyrdom is, how about this: you stay Captain, you stay Champion and _I'll_ be Magistrate," Varric chimes in from the doorway.

"Absolutely not!" blurts the guardswoman.

Hawke pulls back, turning to greet Varric. "Varric!" Her eyes water, and she rushes to embrace him. "You heard?"

"Wynne sent word," he confirms, giving her a tight hug. "Moonbeam still out of it?"

Aveline nods, turning back around to finish the dishes. "She managed to eat a little bit of dinner, so she should be out until two or three in the morning, when she breaks out of her nightmare," she observes, getting a nod from Varric.

"That regular?" asks Hawke, wryly. _How did they even -- oh, right. Me._ She flinches. "Sorry."

It's handy she's already leaning over to hug Varric, as it makes it easier for him to cuff her lightly on the side of the head. "Stop that," he and Aveline both say in unison.

Aveline snorts lightly in the beat of silence that follows. "Guilty or self-loathing expression?"

"Guilty," Varric decides after a second.

"Sorry," she says again, this time her voice a little more wry, less wounded. She takes a deep breath. "Aveline still won't tell me how it happened."

Aveline tenses at the sink, her shoulder hunching a little. "I... I wasn't trying to- to keep it from you," she protests. "Just... not sure how to..."

Varric frowns, eyeing her closely. "I know it was at the Fair Glade Riot," an event already becoming infamous as the deadliest riot in living memory of all but the longest lived races, "but not much more than that..." Sure enough, a guilty expression flashes across Hawke's face as she looks away. Hawke's straightened up, so he can only smack her on the arm this time, but the look in Varric's eyes is the same as last time. Remarkably similar to the look Aveline had in her eyes when Hawke'd done this earlier... Loving reproach and kind (but firm) chastisement.

Aveline quickly finishes the dish she was cleaning, leaving the last four for later. She grabs a towel to dry them off. "It... it can hold, until tomorrow at the least if you want to-to give yourself more time before you get details..." she temporizes.

"I'm going to lie awake wondering all night," she admits, biting her bottom lip.

"Of course you will..." Aveline acknowledges with a sigh. "I need your word- both of you- that this stays between us. It's an ongoing investigation and neither of you- but especially you," she looks at Varric, "have the legal right to any of this."

"Sure," says Hawke, tiredly. "But promise you'll bring me in if you need me, regardless?"

"Right before Law," Aveline agrees, looking at Varric.

"On my Clan," the dwarf says simply, getting a slightly surprised look from the paladin that he's not going to even try and wriggle around things.

"Alright. So the riot, it was... well, the crowd that formed was about a third just there for the market and two thirds working its way up to being a protest of some kind about how they're angry and afraid," Aveline says slowly. "But the riot that it became was sparked by... two idiot kids that... Witness reports, stitched together, said that things were getting tense and a bit chaotic. An elderly man and his granddaughter were getting overwhelmed after being separated from the girl's father- the grandfather is very old, and is frail in mind and body both."

She swallows hard. "Marethari attempted to help them find their way out of the crowd and was reaching down to hold the little girl's hand when one of the boys threw a rock at 'some damn elf harassing some poor human girl.' It... it hit in her the temple, stunning her long enough that... that sparked the riot into starting." Aveline licks her lips. "Marethari managed one spell- she protected the little girl and her grandfather instead of..."

Hawke makes a small, wounded noise in the back of her throat, looking down at her hands. _Some stupid kids. Astea's heart... is that all it takes?_

"There's... more," Aveline says weakly, reaching out to take Hawke's hand but faltering as her own self-doubts about her ability to really comfort someone wither the attempt.

She turns, seeing Aveline's hand pull away and reaching for it. "Alright," she says, quietly.

Aveline hesitates a second, then grips Hawke's hand tightly. "This... I only found out about all of... this because... this morning, C- Mister Amell came to the station to pay their bail. Evidently they're the brothers of some of his... friends." Her jaw clenches. "He didn't seem to know what they'd done, but when I- when I told him, he started going on about how it's clearly a frame up by the Elven Shadow Cabal to tarnish the reputation of his... social movement group."

Varric stares a moment. _What in the actual stupid of stupid is fucking what? I can't even- what the fuck is- even thinking about it is making me dumber._

Hawke scowls. "What grou-- sorry, no, I'll leave that for your guards." She sighs. "I never thought my brother was _that_ stupid as to get into terrorism, though."

Aveline hesitates. "I don't _know_ that they're... that far, as a group. Or that your brother has... done anything of that sort himself regardless of them. He might be their 'clean face'. A partial dupe, that believes in the cause and looks good for crowds, but doesn't know the dirty, illegal or immoral things the rest of the group gets up to."

Hawke nods. "Makes sense."

"He'd do well in the role," Varric says, sounding the idea out verbally as he inspects it. "Young human, with a more famous and successful elfblood sister. Passionate, fairly clean background, but not annoyingly clean. Working class, immigrant, orphan. Bright enough to be clever and speak well, but not so smart he'd be able to notice gaps in explanations at least not so well that they can't cover them over. Sour and bitter about his life, prime for someone to come along and tell him who to blame."

"We're not orphans, he just hates my father," she points out. "And there's no damn reason for him to be so dumb, it's gotta be willful ignorance."

"Eh, close enough," Varric says with a shrug. "And you're one to talk about refusing to see things. Mind you, I'm glad you just ignore how wonderful you are, instead of not admitting you're a racist asshat."

Hawke pulls a face, going quiet for a moment. "I don't feel wonderful today. I feel tired, and sad, and a little sick." She frowns at that last one, then corrects it to, "afraid."

Varric frowns, not sure what she--

"You're wondering- dreading- the idea of Varric dying," Aveline says, bringing Varric's thoughts to a crashing halt.

Hawke flinches, pulling away from Varric instinctively, closing off her expression, jamming her hands into her pockets. All things she does to hide her feelings -- but not usually so rapid-fire as that.

"Honestly and Openness," Aveline says, gently and perhaps not a little ruthlessly.

"Hawke..." Varric says helplessly.

"I can't." Her voice is hoarse, savage , as she fixes her gaze on the kitchen door, the opposite one from where Varric came in.

Varric glances at the floor, then says awkwardly, "do... is there... someone... would it be easier to talk to Lawful?"

"No." Just as harshly. "I can't, I won't, think about that."

"...alright," Aveline says, slowly moving to embrace Hawke. "It's alright. It can rest."

Hawke is tense in her arms, not moving, hands still jammed into her pockets. After a moment, however, she relaxes. The tension flows out of her shoulders, her back, her arms, letting her lean back against Aveline, though she doesn't reach for her. Doesn't speak.

Aveline is quiet as well, unsure and uncomfortable. _It's so much easier to allow Merrill or Zevran or even Varric take the point on this sort of thing. But... it's Hawke. I have to say something... anything..._ "Ummm. Andy's up for a promotion," she blurts out.

"Is he?" She doesn't sound quite right, but it's better than it was. Her voice is strained, but her tone comes out normal enough.

Varric is.. quiet. He's not sure how he feels about this. Knowing he's her weak spot. Not being sure what he can do to safeguard her, safeguard himself _for_ him. The imp in his ear starts whispering furiously, spinning plans that won't work, raising doubts in everything he does. With long practice recently honed in his talks with Lelldorin, he forces the damn thing quiet in time to hear Aveline say something about Andy.

"Yeah. Between his record and performance during the Cider Ghoul Crisis, and then the unrest afterwards, he's up for a promotion to Sergeant," Aveline says almost desperately, grateful her words seemed have had some kind of promising response. "Early for the average but he's a cut above that so just a touch early really."

"Good. I'm glad he-- he was worried about plateauing." Not quite right, not quite there, but only because they know her. Another deep breath, and the last sign of her distress will be gone.

"Yeah, as cosmopolitan as Nyra is- and none better is there- there's still some... wariness because of his blood. Your teaching him how to harness his magic as you have is a key component as to how he's overcome that," Aveline says warmly.

"He's a good kid," Varric chimes in. "Even if he is a guard."

"Yeah, I understand. I was wary at first too. But we're good now. He's dependable."

Aveline starts to simply agree, then pauses a moment as she studies Hawke. "How... else would you describe him?" she asks slowly.

She blinks. "Pretty?" she says, searching for adjectives. "Well, gorgeous really. Ah, clever."

"Professionally," she says with an eyeroll. "Imagine you're giving him a character reference to a prospective employer. But be honest, not flattering."

Varric snickers softly, realizing where this is going. Hawke frowns. "Why? You know him as well as I. Better perhaps. But... I've always found him to be an apt pupil. Intelligent, clever, quick-witted, he's never backed down from a challenge I've thrown at him. He's got a dry sense of humor that keeps him going when I set him grueling tasks, and I'm certain he's much the same on a stake-out. He's perceptive, too, sees things I don't sometimes. Organized."

"So... good qualities in an assistant, you'd say?" Aveline asks, grinning broadly and looking very pleased with herself.

"No." She says flatly.

"I suppose I could pull Trenchbull or Smuthiers back onto Falconry duty if you prefer," Aveline says flatly.

Varric lets out a low whistle. "That's below the belt, Lawful. Pulling Sgt. Rectally Stored Halberd and Sir Fancy Prance and Faint out right off the bat?"

"You do realize I'm not literally a bird, right?" grumbles Hawke. "I can look after myself."

"It's one of the nicer names for it I've heard," Aveline informs her blandly. "And it's not entirely- or even mainly- about you. It's about making sure the city finds out, at least eventually, about the bulk of your... activities. And no, you handing in half a paragraph written on a napkin- or Zevran's underwear and no, I will never forgive you for that- in what you laughingly call calligraphy does _not_ count."

"There wasn't any paper and the message was urgent," she growls. "And it's... demeaning. How would you like to be tailed all the time by arrogant asshats who disapprove of your relationship with me?"

"Andy isn't like that," Aveline says, very carefully not seeming to hear the other part of that question, which gets a raised eyebrow from Varric.

"Maybe now. But following me around for a week seems to do wonders for someone's character." Her tone is clearly sarcastic.

_I wouldn't mind being able to just- Aveline! Get a grip girl._

"Eh, we seemed to do alright for the month we went on vacation with you," Varric points out.

"That was a _month_." She sighs. "If someone has to follow me around, it might as well be Andy, but I don't want his career derailed for the sake of petty political bullshit."

"Hawke, being assigned as a Light's aide- the official title to the role they're using for this- is a very choice assignment... albeit a tough one for you specifically," she admits. "But if nothing else, it'll look great on his record."

She groans. "There's no talking you out of this, is there?"

A thought flickers across Aveline's face before her eyes shift to Varric. Then a stubborn look does the same and her mouth firms. "Not in any way you can do with Varric in the room," she says in a low voice, clearly uncomfortable about saying that aloud, but equally determined to say it.

Varric gives her a slightly betrayed look but doesn't comment, instead crossing his arms. _And yet another is lost to depravity and perversion..._

For a moment, Hawke's face lights up. "If you put it that way..." Then, the facade drops, and she sighs. "But, perhaps another time."

Aveline leans down to press a soft kiss on her beloved's lips. '"Life goes on, amata, whatever pain or death we must face," she whispers. "There's no shame in loving." Her eyes are filled with hard-learned knowledge and a pain that's still healing.

"Yeah," she agrees. "But... It'd be an awkward thing if I burst into tears in the middle," she admits.

Aveline laughs softly. "Awkward, yes, but then we'd stop and I'd hold you and comfort you and love you," she says back, pressing kisses at each action to a different part of of Hawke's face. Out of the corner of Hawke's eye, she can see Varric carefully checking Bianca's firing mechanism.

Hawke catches her chin, kissing her firmly. "Alright. Alright, then... let's get some rest."

"We can... relax a bit, rest a while, then go to Merrill for when she'll wake in the early morn?" Aveline suggests after she catches her breath.

"Yes, let's." She smiles, then tugs Aveline toward the guest room. "Sleep well, Papa," she calls as they go.

\---

"Another," Carver grunts, ignoring the bartender's glare. He's been in his cups most of the evening; at this point, he's likely to have a wicked hangover in the morning, but he doesn't care. _If I never sober up, I'll never have to face the hangover. I'll be fine. It's all fine. I'll forget about this. Waste away to nothing. It'll all be fine if I just never sober up. It's not like anyone would miss me anyway._

\---

Aveline's just getting off shift when she spies Beka trotting toward her. Or no, not Beka; Beka's just behind her, trotting along happily, ready for bed herself. But another mabari, one very like her Beka. Not Silence; this must be.... one of their siblings.

Beka pulls ahead of her person, wanting to met and challenge the arrival before they- he- arrives. As she nears, a nearly forgotten scent causes her stiff posture to relax and a soft huff of greeting to pass from her mouth.

Aveline watches this with faint amusement, then girds herself as she looks around for poor Hunter's keeper.

Hunter bows a doggy bow, giving a soft whimper -- acknowledgement of Beka's claim. Then he huffs, giving another, more plaintive whine. He backs away, still watching them, enticing them to follow. _With me. Danger,_ he seems to tell Beka through his whines and the wriggle of his hips.

Aveline frowns. They're different, the signals, but the underlying posture he does them... "Hunter, where's Carver?" Aveline asks firmly, careful to say the name clearly.

Hunter gives a soft 'wuff' of acknowledgement. Tail wagging, he prances a bit away, before doubling back to Aveline.

_Sodding hells..._ "Beka," Aveline says crisply, getting a smart look and tucked back ears. "Fetch-" Her mind quickly sorts through her options. Hawke is still at her office, Zevran is with Merrill, Varric is... somewhere, and Isabela is off again. Well, nothing for it really. "Fetch Hawke. Ask soft."

Beka whines softly, then huffs once before running off briskly. Aveline turns to Hunter then. "Alright, lead on, but go slow," she orders.

Hunter trots along then, leading her. He's good at leading. Good at fetch, too. Fetch and fetch. He's overall a Good Boy. And now he's Fetching to save his master from Poison. After this he'll be a Very Good Boy.

Hunter leads Aveline to a pub -- one where the atmosphere is perfect for drinking in small groups or solo, or maybe a date, but not very festive. Or clean; it is Coalside after all. Several cats work here as barmaids, but Aveline doesn't need to flag one down; she spies Carver right away, head hung in his hands, four empty copper mugs before him keeping track of how many he's had. From the look of him, he's not drinking ale.

Aveline makes a disgusted noise as she marches over to him. Standing behind him, she scowls, one hand on her hip. She debates for a moment, then shrugs. _Fuck it._ Without a word, she smacks him in the back of the head, timing a discharge of healing energies as she does so. It'll purge the poison- the alcohol- easily enough. Of course, having that happen without warning is very disorienting and somewhat dizzying. But he deserves it.

Carver was very not expecting that; his head knocks into the bar in front of him, and he groans. His head clearing -- whirly, but clearing -- he stumbles off his stool, grabbing for his sword to defend himself. Of course it doesn't come free. As he reaches for a mug to use as a weapon, he spies who it is, and stops, dropping the mug back onto the counter.

"Guardswoman," he says, paling.

"Idiot," Aveline replies gravely.

"I'm sorry -- I'll go," he stammers, looking up at her face to read her expression. His own... there's deep pain in his eyes, a haunted look he's clearly been drinking to be rid of.

At his feet, Hunter whines softly.

"Good. I can't imagine this place's food is all that great and I'm hungry," Aveline says, face still stern. "I know a good cafe a few blocks away and they won't mind Hunter coming in as long as he stays near the table and doesn't beg from the other diners."

As he studies her face, the barkeep grunts, "Tab."

Without looking, Carver fishes out a gold coin and plonks it onto the table. The barkeep grunts, and he adds a second, sheepishly. _How much did I drink? ___

__"If nothing else, you're a citizen in my care, Carver. You can trust in that, if you don't care about... any personal history we have," Aveline says gently._ _

__"Right," he scoffs. "Of course." _Still, if she wants me dead, it wouldn't be hard to do._ He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Then as a citizen, let me buy you a meal. In thanks for your service."_ _

__"That sounds good," Aveline agrees after a moment. "If you let me get a treat for Hunter afterwards. He earned it."_ _

__"Hunter?" Carver looks to his Mabari, who wuffs softly, wagging his tail. "I suppose." _Whatever he did, he probably did earn it._ He lowers a hand, ruffling the dog's ears affectionately._ _

__"Ready then?" Aveline asks, giving Hunter a respectful nod._ _

__"Yeah, sure."_ _

__Hunter gives a tail wag. _Ready!__ _

__The cafe Aveline suggested is a small family place, run by a husband, wife and their second eldest son. Simple quiet fare, lots of baked goods and grilled poultry, along with local fruits. Not very big either, a half dozen tables inside, a handful outside. Still, the service is fast and the food smells great._ _

__Aveline orders a potato cream soup with a hunk of wheat bread and a pair of apples on the side, though she makes very shallow small talk until they're served. If nothing else, she's hoping Carver will relax a tiny bit._ _

__Carver is... quiet, subdued. He gives answers, and they're polite enough, but there's a sullenness to his tone that undercuts the politeness of the words. His hand frequently dips to pet his dog -- something that seems to give him some measure of comfort. When they order, he asks for a strong wine to go with his food._ _

__"Oh, actually, I'd rather recommend their lemonade. It's lightly fortified with a citrus wine, very good," Aveline says smoothly._ _

__"Fine," he agrees, lapsing into silence._ _

__Aveline prods him to order some food for Hunter as well- some soup bones- and then waits for the server to leave. "So... you seem to be in a rather dark mood," she says directly._ _

___Of course I am. Vangal's balls, woman, wouldn't you be?_ Something of his dark thoughts cross his eyes, but he doesn't elaborate. "It's a dark night," he says, looking away._ _

__"...Carver, it's seven in the morning. Overcast, I'll grant you, but I think your last night has become this morning," Aveline says gently._ _

___That explains how I spent two damn gold._ He groans, rubbing his face. "Lovely."_ _

__"What brought all this on?" Aveline asks, keeping her tone soft and friendly._ _

__"Betrayal." He sigh. "I'm sure you're not interested."_ _

___Though, she **is** with the guard. You could tell her, then wash your hands of all this and skip town._ He buries his face in his hand, hiding, ashamed. _So much for loyalty. Would you really turn on you friends, Amell? After all that dung you slung about not turning against family?__ _

__"Do..." _It won't be the first time, Aveline. Nor the first time for a Hawke, whatever name he claims. Sometimes... law has to bend, to allow good to to act. Vangal's devotion, what changes I've been through... just five years ago, those words would have been unthinkable._ "Carver. Who do you want to talk to for this conversation? Captain Vallen? Aveline? Bright's Vallen? I... can listen as who you need me to be," she offers carefully._ _

__"What, no offer from my sister's keeper?" Bitterness, rancor, were good -- they were a smoldering ember he could drag out, blow on, hope to catch a flame from. Anything to drive out the damp, grey despair in his heart._ _

__"Sgt. Andy isn't here, but if you prefer, I can send for him," Aveline says blandly. "Unless by keeper, you meant sworn Champion or lover. In which case, neither of them would particularly care to talk to you. I'd suggest one of the three I mentioned instead."_ _

__"I just wanted a city where that didn't matter," he snaps. "A city where loving an elf didn't mean you saw me as worthless. Is that too much to ask?"_ _

__"It was never Hawke, Carver," Aveline says tiredly. "It was what you _did_. _You_ lost your temper and stabbed her. _You_ accused a man of the worst crime he could imagine. _You_ joined a radical movement that hates so many. _You_ clung to bitterness and jealousy for years. Me loving her never stopped me from being your friend. You did."_ _

__"I was _raped_ , even if I can't prove it. Even if--" He bites off his statement, scowling, looking away. "You don't care." he adds, quieter. "You never have. His pointed ears mean more than my pain. That's why I... I thought I had friends, at last. I thought I found someone who would listen to me, who would care what I'd been through, who saw me and not a failed version of my sister. But they were just using me because of her anyway."_ _

__"If I thought, even for a second, you'd been raped, I'd see justice done," Aveline says harshly. "But Zevran could never. Not after his life, not after having been raped himself for years as slave. _I don't care_ about his fucking ears. I care about who he is. I know you've not had an easy life, Carver. You lost your twin. I can't... I'm an only child and losing a fiance isn't the same I'm sure, but gods, I know that must have been awful. _Is_ awful. Then having to live with your uncle, taking care of your mother. Trying to learn a trade without help, while _still_ taking care of your mother? No, I don't love you the same as Hawke. But that doesn't mean I didn't think you a friend. Care about you and your life."_ _

__"Maybe you did," he says darkly. "But you don't now. That's plain to see."_ _

__"You don't honestly think I normally look after random drunks in bars because they're Nyran citizens, do you?" Aveline asks him incredulously. "That was an out for your pride, in case you'd be stubborn about letting me help."_ _

__"I'm not stupid, Avaline," he snaps. "I assume you're here to collect tales so you can gloat later. 'Look what your fool brother's gone and done,' you'll crow. My sister will eat that shit up."_ _

__"Aside from telling her about... your... tangential association with Marethari's death and a very brief summary of Merrill's attempt at befriending you, I can't think of a single time I've mentioned you to Hawke in more than passing," Aveline replies. "She doesn't want to know about you anymore. It hurts to think about, I suspect. That her blood family, the family she grew up with, is gone."_ _

__"She's the one who left!"_ _

__He lets that hang a moment, covering his face again with one hand. "I don't mean to drag up old fights," he says, by way of apology. "But she's never tried to mend fences with me, yet I'm the one who takes all the blame. It always comes back to our ears. She's _special_. She _belongs_ here. I'm just another human merc."_ _

__"For fuck's sake, Carver, the only thing I have against your ears is that you never use them," Aveline snaps at him. "I. Do. Not. Care. About. Her. Race. Or yours. Fuck, I spent all but the last year or so of my life thinking I was human. I just thought the thing with fire was a sorcerous talent I never honed. You could be just as special, belong here just as much, but you don't want to be. You prefer wallowing in bitterness, blaming her, blaming elves, blaming anyone and everyone. _Grow up_."_ _

__Carver stands, digging into his coin pouch to drop a few gold on the table. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, guardswoman. I'll let you know when I wake up one morning with fire magic." As he turns to go, however, he finds his Mabari in the way. "C'mon, Hunter."_ _

__Hunter doesn't move. He gives a soft whine of apology, but stays, sitting too close to the end of the booth to let Carver out._ _

__"Wake up with- fuck, Carver, I didn't mean-" Aveline rubs her face. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out the way I meant it. I- those two thoughts weren't linked, I just meant that you, human Carver Amell, could be special in different but equally valid ways as your sister," she tries to explain quietly. "I don't think of myself as better, now that it's a race power rather than just arcane. The weight of my deeds and choices is what makes me who I am, not my bloodline. In the end, deeds and choices are all that matters in that final talk."_ _

__"Was I any less a hero than she was, before she died?" he asks, his tone also softer. "I saved lives. I worked with the guard, she was always independent. I worked as a mercenary, sure, but so did she. I stayed with my mother, made sure she was as comfortable and protected as she could be. I paid my uncle's debts when I could, and I did my damndest to stop him gambling away mother's comfort. Things Marian never even considered. I paid the rent directly. Would a Mabari have bonded to me if I was such a jackass as you all say I am? But where does it get me? Human Carver Amell isn't a hero. Human Carver Amell can't find even one girlfriend, while Elf Marian Hawke has as many lovers as she can stomach. Human Carver Amell lives alone with his dog, and nobody will give him the time of day. Human Carver Amell's the butt of the jokes, something to be used and discarded."_ _

__"Don't-" Aveline's voice cracks. "Don't... want that. If- If I could, if I somehow I could have prevented- don't wish to be a hero. It's not..." She takes a deep breath. "I've been a guard since I was thirteen- cadet then, obviously, but I served. My family has been Nyran for six generations or more. Last month was the first time I'd touched my leave. Never missed a patrol or shift. Averaged at least six commendations each year. Lost my fiancé in the line of duty. Been near fatally wounded six things in the line of duty. I work nearly sixty hours a week on a slow week. And yet Hawke is a Guiding Light. Hawke is being noised about to be Magistrate. Hawke is the Champion of Coalside, the district I've poured blood, sweat and tears into for more than half a decade. And I'm barely holding onto my Captaincy because of politics and bullshit." Aveline smiles thinly. "I know what it's like to compare lives."_ _

__"And yet right around the time you become a Captain, you become Suli." He says it baldly, looking at her with tired eyes. "How do you think that looks to the rest of us? The gods touched you, or maybe some elven magic touched you, marked you as special. Humans without magic are the lowest of the low in Nyra. Unremarkable. So many of us died in those riots, and yet it's the death of an elf that upsets you -- and I know, she was your friend, but what are the rest of us supposed to learn from that?" He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's true anymore. I've no hope of untangling this thing, and I know it. Maybe Reese did what he's accused of, and maybe he didn't. But I understand the men I thought were my friends. They're just like me. Maybe better than me; at least they have the courage to do something about this feeling."_ _

__"What? Carver, I found out I was suli almost two years after I became a Captain," Aveline says, slightly bewildered. _What are the rest of us supposed to learn? That I care about the people I care about maybe? Of course I care about the others that died, how could I not, but everyone grieves more over friends and family than strangers, that's not about race..._ "And you're not... don't overvalue courage. Sometimes, it's not fear that stays your hand but... compassion. Righteousness. I don't know what if any of the rumors about your... friends- the men you thought were your friends," she corrects herself, brow scrunching up at his wording, "are true, if I could be sure I'd have arrested them, but if even a tenth are true, then I'm glad and proud you haven't done what they have done."_ _

__"And if I turned them in, what would happen to me? Or-- that came out badly -- what would happen to the other men like me? Or kids like Reese? Lads just coming of age, thinking they have no shot at being anyone important because they don't have magic and they're only humans? Who would they look up to?"_ _

__"Lord Panis? Lord zi'Marassi has some aasimar blood but he's not merikos. Lord zi'Rainbowall has magic, but he's human as well. Or there's Father Lellodorin in Coalside- he's one of the most respected Seekers in the entire city, for both his charity work and his old career as a sceleratii hunter." Aveline leans back a little. "Or Lady zi'Hawke or Captain Vallen. They're both half human after all. Shame that people seem to overlook that part of them. A lot of what makes them great comes from there."_ _

__"Only two of those you named are _human_ ," he protests. "It seems like the best way to raise a human family up is to get yourself pregnant by something powerful. The second best is to be born a mage and be lucky enough to be powerful enough to get notice. None of that's open to the bulk of us. We just don't matter. Coalside doesn't matter. I wanted..." He sighs, swallowing back a hint of tears. "I wanted to change that."_ _

__"There's nothing wrong with wanting to better the lives of yourself and those like you. You just shouldn't do it by worsening the lives of others," she says softly, reaching across to take his hand. "And you need to start with yourself. Find something that makes you happy. Gives you strength of self. Then you can start trying to share that with others." Aveline glances at their feet with a faint smile. "Hunter seems a good start with that, I've noticed."_ _

__He pulls his hand back, doesn't let her take it. "I never tried to worsen anything for anyone." _Except that night._ "Not intentionally. I wanted to take some of the power back. They told me about-- well, it doesn't matter, it was probably all lies. But I wanted to stop people preying on my friends. I wanted a place where we could raise children who would be proud of being human, proud of their skill with the sword, the way my sister is proud of being an elf, a mage."_ _

___But this..._ _ _

__He sighs. "zi'Huntinghawk," he says, quietly. "She runs an orphanage downtown. There's been distressing rumors about the place, about what she wants with the human kids inside. A group of us are planning to do something about it tomorrow night." He pauses. "Tonight, I guess."_ _

__Aveline pales. "Gods, Carver, if you attacked or killed a Light, it'd spark a damn crusade against your group. And at an orphanage? I can't think of a better way of making things worse for humans aside from maybe starting an actual plague on purpose," Aveline hisses, eyes wide. "You wanted to help humans? You just did."_ _

__"If a Light is systematically butchering human orphans to summon demons," he bristles, "I don't see what else we could do." He pauses, then, his mind catching up to his mouth as he deflates, his shoulders slumping. "Except it isn't true, is it?"_ _

__"zi'Huntinghawk is an _alchemist_ , she doesn't summon anything," Aveline groans. "If you'd heard she was using them as reagents, that would at least be vaguely plausible. And no, this sounds like either a rumor that got taken as gospel. Or someone just wants to kill a Light for whatever reason and is using your friends to do it."_ _

__"Anyone can use rituals," he points out. "She's an elf, and she has power, but she's an alchemist, and that's not quite good enough for a lot of the Nyran old guard. With a demon at her beck and call, she would have more traditional magic." He shakes his head. "It passes muster. If anything, the fact it's a stretch makes it a little more likely to be true. But I... I don't know anymore, what's true and what's not." He hangs his head. "The things they said about me, when they didn't know I was listening... They're good. Skilled. Cunning. I was a fool."_ _

__"Clean face," Aveline says gently. "A believer, wholesome and likeable, that's deliberately keep in the dark about the group's darker deeds, either to allow them to skirt around truthings or simply because anyone good enough to be suitable for public relations would be too good to condone what they're doing in secret. Or both. Do you have somewhere safe you can go for the next couple of days?"_ _

__"Of course not," he says, quietly. "I figured I'd spend them drunk, see how it all plays out." _Likeable... how sad is it they're the only ones who think so?__ _

__"Come on them. I have some good wards on my place, you can use my guest room," Aveline says quietly as she waves at server. "Not like I suspect I'll be sleeping at home for the next fews days... buying a good mattresses for the cot in my office was the best silver I ever spent."_ _

__Despite everything, he still looks astonished. "You're serious?"_ _

__Aveline shrugs a little. "My house is already set up for mabarai, so that won't be a problem. Stay out of my bedroom, but you can use the rest of the place as you like. Should be plenty of food, for you and Hunter both. Oh, and don't let Hunter dig in my gardens. I don't get nearly enough time as I'd like to work on them and I don't want to have to go back to spending half of it fulling in holes." She scowls slightly. "Beka and I had more than a few _talks_ about that..."_ _

__The server swings by then, asking if they need anything, then leaving the check._ _

__"But what about..." _My sister. My ears. The fact that you hate me.__ _

__"Hawke's the only one with access to my place other than me," Aveline continues as if he'd not spoken. "And I'll let her know I won't be there for the next while. No reason for her to come around if I'm not there. Don't answer the door of course, just in case. The backyard is private enough that as long as you don't cause a ruckus, no-one will noticed you out there with Hunter. It's not large enough for a proper run, but he'll a least be about to stretch a bit. Rough house with you, if he keeps the noise down, or play tug. Remind me to show you where the toys are, as well as the medical supplies, just in case."_ _

__He watches her for a moment more, then smiles, shyly. "Thanks."_ _

__Aveline offers a smile back. "Friends can disagree, even fight, and still be friends," she says as they leave the café. "We just have to work on it."_ _

__"Friends," he agrees._ _

__\---_ _

__The next twenty-four hours are something of a hectic blur. Thanks to the warning, Aveline is able to send in some discrete searches into the orphanage to look about. They find enough evidence- some decently forged documents implicating Lady zi'Huntinghawk, as well as some terrible ritual mock-ups that the guard mages assure Aveline couldn't summon a wisp, much less a sceleratis- that they're able to pull together a full sting. Dopplegangers are arranged for to stand in for the Light and the single guard she takes with her on her biannual secret check-in. The orphans are all teleported to a safehouse and replaced with illusions and animated dolls._ _

__When night falls and the Brotherhood of Humanity tries to storm the building, they succeed with ease. Once they're inside, however, the full platoon of guard springs into action. The fighting is surprisingly fierce despite the ambush. Whatever else you can say about them, the Brotherhood fighters are determined and well trained and they take six guards down with them before they're stopped. The next few days are even more a whirlwind of activity._ _

__Questioning the captured Brothers reveals that ex-Captain Jeven is involved, which causes an uproar among the guard and nobility both, especially those nobles that had been quietly gathering support for his reinstatement. The discovery that the vast majority of the unrest Coalside has been experiencing can be traced back to Jeven and his sponsors is... explosive. After the first two days, Lord Panis steps him to personally act as Magistrate of Coalside- something he technically isn't allowed to decide for himself- in order to maintain order and ensure that the investigation is done with an even hand. By the end of things, fourteen guards, two-hundred and twelve civilians and twenty-eight nobles are arrested. Most are charged with basic felonies, the guards and some nobles all also getting dereliction of duty or breaking oaths of office. Six of the nobles, however, are convicted of full blown treason and executed by being Gated to the very heart of the Elemental Plane of Fire._ _

__Finally, however, things calm down. Panis steps back, and another Magistrate is appointed. Aveline finally gets to see her loved ones for more than five minutes and go home. It's empty, however, with only a neatly written note on the table. It's a goodbye and a thank you. Carver has finally decided that Nyra simply can't be a home to him, so he's leaving. Besides, he writes, no investigation is perfect, and it would only take one missing Brother to realize Carver is to blame for all this. And he's right. Things get better, Coalside feels lighter, happier, but it's still not perfect. There are still those that were part of the Brotherhood of Humanity that escape and more that agreed with them. And, of course, there are those that blame all humans for the ills and sins of a mere handful of the race. But those are zi'Hawke's problem now. Carver Amell is finally walking his own path._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading Guiding Light! This is very much a middle book; the next work, Illuminated Soul, has the true ending of the series, but I wanted to close on that note of Carver opting out of his sister's life for good because it feels like the end of an era for Hawke.


End file.
